#whatever will be is only a temporary solution and it is damn hard to accept

[mymadmedleyw]

sad day today

not for any particular reason, just sad overall

I think I am still processing the things mentally

it feels odd that the feeling doesn't seem to leave me, instead it is stuck in me and clenches

I think this will be my company from now in the coming few weeks until the procedure happens

...or even longer, knowing the risks and recurring

[quickeningheart]

Seventeen

   When Charley entered the apartment at the end of the day, she was greeted with the rich scent of chocolate. Her mouth watered as she inhaled deeply, and her stomach growled; she hadn't gotten around to lunch, after all. Or much of a breakfast, for that matter. "Is that chocolate cake I smell?" she called.

   The bathroom door opened and Alley's head popped out. "Better," she replied.

   "Better than chocolate cake?" Charley lifted one of the towels spread over a baking sheet, eyes widening at the sight of round, red cakes cooling on them. "Are those…?"

   "Red velvet whoopie pies. They were your favorite, right?" Alley approached with a grin, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. The heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and air-freshener followed in her wake. "I still have to add the filling, yet."

   "Who needs filling?" Charley picked up a still-hot cake, juggling it between her hands, and took a large bite. She sighed blissfully. "Still as good as I remember!" She finished it off in two more bites, sucking the sticky crumbs from her fingers.

   "That's great, Charley, but now there's a pie without a top."

   "Oh, well, we can take care of that." She picked up another pastry and wolfed it down.

   Alley laughed. "I think those boys have been a bad influence on you," she teased.

   Her cousin just smirked. "So what brought on this rabid bout of baking?" She glanced at the four trays of cakes sitting on the table, waiting for their filling.

   Alley fidgeted. "I made them for you. As an apology," she admitted. "I'm sorry I said all those things in front of your friends. I wasn't trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or anything. I was just worried."

   Charley grinned and shrugged. "Well, no big surprise. The filter between your brain and your mouth never did work right."

   Alley stuck her tongue out, slapping Charley's hand away when she reached for another pie. "I'm being serious! I feel really bad about it."

   "Look, I'm honestly not that upset. Just my pride got a little bruised, is all. But you know I'm not the type to hold grudges. Besides, something good came from it."

   Alley raised an eyebrow when her cousin blushed faintly, a goofy smile spreading over her face. "You look like a teenager crushing on the hot guy in class," she teased.

   "He is pretty hot," Charley agreed, laughing when Alley pulled a face. "Or maybe older men are more your type," she added slyly, "given that little scene I walked in on this morning and all…"

   "That was—!" Alley blushed to the roots of her hair. "That was…"

   "Kinda hot, is what is was," Charley snickered. "Another second and the kitchen might've erupted in flames."

   "Another second and I'd have punched that letch through the wall!"

   "Hmmm." Charley eyed her cousin thoughtfully. "If you really wanted to punch him, seems to me you'd 've done it."

   "What are you implying?" Alley huffed. "That I'm giving in to his charms? No way! I'm not into furries. Especially old furries."

   Charley laughed. "So you admit he has charms, eh?"

   "What? That isn't—!" Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, if you want to date Vinnie, that's all fine and dandy. Knock yourself out, I'm honestly happy that you're happy. But please just … don't…" She faltered, not wanting to upset her cousin all over again. "I'm not—"

   "Okay, okay. Relax," the mechanic soothed. "I was only teasing. I understand. I really do, and I promise not to say anything else about it, all right?" She drew a line across her lips, turning an imaginary key.

   "Thank you," Alley replied with a sigh, opening the fridge to grab a bowl full of whipped filling. She offered it with a sheepish smile. "Want to help me frost?"

   "Only if I get to lick the spatula."

   She snickered. "You're such a kid."

   "Damn straight. Keeps me young." Charley grinned and riffled around in the bottom cabinets until she unearthed an ancient Tupperware container. She pursed her lips, eyeballing the container, then the cakes. "Ummm … pretty sure all these ain't gonna fit in here."

   "Is that the only container you have?" Alley looked horrified.

   Charley chuckled. "I'm no master chef. Never needed more than one before."

   "I'm just gonna have to buy you the whole damn kitchen and be done with it," the blonde grumbled.

   "Like you can afford that."

   "I can with the jewels Stoker left behind."

   There was a marked silence; Alley reached up to pull down several dinner plates from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the irritation on her cousin's face.

   "I told him I didn't want his charity!" Charley burst out.

   Alley pursed her lips, setting the plates down with a thunk and fixing her cousin with a hard stare. "That's your ego talking. Can't you tell the difference between charity and a heartfelt gift? But, whatever. Since you didn't want it, he gave it to me, instead."

   "And you have no problems accepting handouts."

   "I fail to see how this is a handout," Alley replied, pulling a roll of wax paper from a drawer and tearing several sheets from it to line the plates. "He found the jewelry, didn't he? And he already took what he needed from it. The rest of the jewels are just junk to him. But they're worth a pretty penny to most humans. So, rather than tossing out some incredibly valuable rocks, he deemed it more economical to give the rest to you, so you can take what you need from them. I don't think that's charity so much as some pretty damned useful recycling."

   Charley opened and closed her mouth several times, trying for a retort, but finding none forthcoming. She huffed and picked up a well-worn spatula, using it to slap a large dollop of filling onto half of a pie. She used a little too much force, however; the pastry crumbled easily, leaving a red and white gooey mess sitting in her palm. She scowled down at it for a second, until a choked giggle had her switching her glare to Alley, instead, who was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. "Shut up," she grumbled, flinging the mess at her. It landed smack-dab in the center of Alley's chest, earning an outraged squeak.

   The tension broke as Charley broke into giggles of her own, her irritation melting away. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I might have possibly let my ego overrule my common sense on this subject, but it doesn't sit right with me to just be handed a huge amount of money like that." She sighed, turning on the sink to wash her hand off. "I busted my ass to get this garage up and running, and to keep it going despite everything conspiring to shut me down. To accept help, no matter how well-intended, just feels too much like … giving up. Like admitting I can't do it."

   "Nobody would believe that," Alley scolded, dabbing at the frosting on her shirt. "Those guys wouldn't think less of you. You mean the world to them. They just want to help, the same way you've been helping them all this time. You consider each other family, right? Isn't family supposed to support each other when it's needed?"

   "You make a good point," Charley conceded.

   "I've made a lot of good points. You just didn't want to listen to them. And I guess that was my fault, too."

   "Well." Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "I'm listening now. Do you have anything else to say about my business practices that you think I should know?"

   "Actually…" she hedged, "I think I've got an idea that might solve some of your problems. At least on a temporary basis."

   "Oh? Do tell."

   "Well, in regards to those gems, if you're that determined to keep your garage running by yourself, why not just sell them and open a separate bank account with the money? It could be like a … a disaster relief fund or something."

   "A what?"

   "Give the guys the money. They don't have any of their own, right? In that sense, they're way worse off than you," Alley pointed out. "You can set up an account for them, under your name."

   "Okay…" Charley nodded. "And doing that would accomplish … what, exactly?"

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, if they put any more holes through your doors, or manage to blow up some of the much-needed equipment to do your work, they can actually pay for it, for a change. Rather than you dipping into your own savings to cover replacement parts or whatever, dip into theirs, instead." She held up a finger. "And also! Those fancy, highly-expensive upgrades you're always giving those bikes of theirs? You'll no longer have to pay for them yourself."

   "That doesn't seem right, making them pay for stuff I always offered for free," Charley protested.

   "What's the big deal? Not like they actually earned any of that hypothetical money," Alley pointed out dryly.

   Well, Charley could hardly argue with that logic. She huffed a laugh and shrugged. "I guess it's not bad, as far as ideas go," she grudgingly admitted. "It doesn't really work as a long-term solution, though."

   "Well, no, I did say it was temporary. Whatever money the gems bring in would run out eventually, but at least it'd give you a chance to catch up and rebuild your finances. Take some of the pressure off, for a while at least."

   Charley tapped her chin, staring into space as she thought. "I'll talk it over with the guys," she decided. "See what they think."

   "That mean you'll do it?"

   "I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try." She shrugged. "It'll get those furballs to stop nagging at me, if nothing else." She grinned and shook her head, shooting Alley an impressed glance. "Really, I dunno how you do it. First, getting them to eat something other than junk food, and now this. All these years with them constantly putting holes through my walls and now they suddenly grow a conscience about it. Did you take a class or something? Guilt Trip 101?"

   Alley scoffed. "Please. Have you met my mother? That woman's got guilt-tripping down to a science, and she's practiced on me my entire life. Those guys never stood a chance!"

Next

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Charon the Boatman

(and featuring the arm of Dispater, in the upper right!)

Neutral Evil Horseman of Death

Domains: Death, Evil, Knowledge, Water Subdomains: Daemon, Ice, Memory, Undead

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 36~37

Obedience: Meditate upon your infirmities and the slow, inevitable progression of physical and mental decay inherent to the ravages of time. Mimic this progression by immersing yourself or a victim in icy water until nearly unconscious, or by consuming alcohol or drugs that dull memory and mental faculties. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus on saving throws against necromancy and negative energy effects.

I greatly prefer the shrouded figure in a nice hat from the Bestiary, but I’ll be damned if the crotchety, coin-covered old man from the cover of the Complete Book of the Damned hasn’t won me over a little. Too bad the illustration inside the book is so... eugh.

Anyway, it’s odd to me that the most powerful of all the Horsemen has the simplest of all the Obediences. Simple doesn’t mean safe or easy, though. Icy water is difficult to come by without magic, especially not water cold enough to deal damage to you--note that it says you have to be rendered nearly unconscious by this submersion, implying nonlethal damage must be dealt by the freezing temperatures. A stickler DM may demand the water be at -0F or below, which deals nonlethal damage each minute, and may force you to bathe in it longer depending on how much HP you have, meaning this Obedience becomes more difficult as you level up.

Of course, that’s just a mechanical perspective. You can achieve the same result by meditating under the water until you nearly pass out from oxygen deprivation, in that case. A looser DM may also allow you to chill (badum-tish) in the water for an hour and consider it said and done... But beware, because you can’t just dunk yourself in ice-cold water over and over again without some longer-reaching side effects, such as frostbite or hypothermia. ... Both of which can be cured via magic, but y’know. It’s real hard to explain to any do-gooders in your party why you keep needing frostbite healed while in the middle of summer. It’s a very hard Obedience to keep a secret, is what I’m saying, especially since it requires a bathing vessel, a whole lot of water, and some method to chill it. The latter two can be done with magic, but the former is still pretty attention-grabbing.

Unless you cut out the danger to yourself and just use a Sack Of Rats and nearly drown one in freezing water every day, I mean. You save on water and on bathing vessels! It makes you look like a sociopath if you get caught, though. I mean, you are if you’re worshiping Charon, but it’s also real hard to explain why you’re dunking rats in ice water.

The potential alternative is no less deleterious to your character, either. Drugs which dull memory and mental faculties tend to do so by dealing Intelligence or Wisdom damage, and dealing damage to your own ability scores is never something you want to do just in case the DM has a monster in the wings that’s ready to do it for you. There’s also the danger of addiction, which itself can be cured by Cure Disease... but if you can’t cast it yourself, then there’s the whole “explaining things to your party” thing again. While carrying around drugs is a lot more subtle than hauling around a bathtub, it’s also more expensive and is likely to raise more questions and garner more attention if you’re caught in the act, ESPECIALLY if you’re in a majorly Good- or Neutral-aligned civilization at the moment. Not to mention it’s harder to maintain; what are you gonna do, stock up on a hundred days’ worth of Hazy Brain Juice in one city? And don’t forget that it’s ability score damage. Taking those kinds of drugs day after day is going to render you invalid quickly unless you have a method of repairing the damage.

And if you don’t, party shaking disapproving head etc etc you know the drill.

And, no, getting sloshed first thing in the morning isn’t any better, even if you can cure it right away. Being the Funny Drunken Party Guy is good fun once in a while, but not every single day at the crack of dawn. It DOES make it easier to disguise your true nature, though, because Cayden Cailean exists. You’d just have to put up with looking like a really, really terrible follower of good ol’ CC who misunderstood their own god.

Hoo man. That was a lot of writing! Anyway, the benefit is great. Necromancers and death Clerics are a very common enemy type, so it’s good to have the extra protection against them! .... Unless you’re in an Evil campaign, in which case you’re unlikely to run into as many negative energy effects or necromancers. That puts a pretty big dampener on its usefulness.

Boons usually come at levels 12, 16, and 20 if you merely take the Fiendish Obedience feat, but having levels in the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel prestige classes allow you to unlock the respective bonuses much faster. The trio of prestige classes can be entered as early as level 7; taken as early as possible, you unlock the Boons at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead.

Daemon worshipers may elect to class into the Souldrinker prestige class instead of the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel class, and may choose any of the three Boon lists they wish to have.

———-

EVANGELIST

———-

Boon 1: Death’s Blessing. Gain Memory Lapse 3/day, Catatonia 2/day, or Create Soul Gem 1/day

I’ve discussed the general usefulness of Memory Lapse previously in Tex Mex Ian’s article, so check that out under Evangelist!

Catatonia is a spell whose usefulness is SO cripplingly limited that the situations in which it’s useful are basically nil. For those who don’t know what the spell does--and I don’t blame you--it’s a touch spell that knocks the target into a deathlike state for 1hr/level. Their body is treated like a corpse in all respects until the spell ends or is ended by an outside effect. Can you think of a practical use for this spell that couldn’t be replicated by a different spell? I bet! What if I told you it offered no saving throw? That’d be AMAZING!

Except that it can only be used on a willing target.

Yeah.

I suppose you could use mind-control magic to make someone willingly accept the spell, but at that point you have someone mind controlled so there’s no real need to knock them out, unless you VERY SPECIFICALLY need to bring their corpse somewhere and have them regain consciousness to wreak havoc.

Create Soul Gem, however, is a... strange spell. Because it’s a spell-like, you don’t actually need the focus component (a crystal lens worth 500gp), but the spell itself transforms the crystal lens into a soul gem. I would discuss the exact way this manifests with your DM before it comes up, because in my opinion, you should be allowed to just use any old glass or crystal lens you have on you as the focus regardless of its worth. A player character will likely have little reason to actually create a soul gem unless they’re bargaining with fiends, or holding the soul of some unfortunate victim captive... But the spell wears off 1 day/level later, the gemstone crumbling and releasing the soul to the Boneyard for judgment. Some fiends likely won’t recognize the temporary soul gem, but most devils will, and a daemon definitely will.

Thankfully, though this ability may seem less than spectacular at first, it combos well with the next Boon...

Boon 2: Soul Crush. As a standard action, you can crush a soul gem (such as one you create via Create Soul Gem or one created by a Cacodaemon) to gain Fast Healing 15 for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice. This action condemns the crushed soul to Abaddon; resurrecting this victim requires a successful DC 28 caster level check.

... Oh boy does it combo well. Suddenly, Create Soul Gem reads as ‘once per day, fully heal your character over the course of a minute.’ Regenerating 15 damage every round you remain conscious is game-breakingly powerful, saving your party hundreds on spell slots, wand charges, and health potions as you gnaw on a delicious soul-filled rock rather than take up valuable resources. By the time you get this ability, it lets you restore over 190 HP to yourself per soul gem used, and that will rise as you level up.

This is one of the rare Evangelist Boons that can fit on any character archetype equally well. A frontline tank will adore the extra HP, and between their AC and Fast Healing, will likely outheal any damage the enemy can do. The midliners who can slip out of combat can dodge and roll as their entire HP bar grows back, and the backliners who get potshot by enemy attacks can bide their time in cover until they regain enough HP to peek out again.

The best part about this ability, though? The quality of the soul gem doesn’t matter, and there’s no daily limit on how many times you can use this power, only however many soul gems you have on your person. Stock up, and become the invincible soul-eater you always dreamed of being!

... Oh yeah, everyone you crush gets sent to Abaddon, too. That’s pretty neat! And also a horrible fate to inflict on someone! You bastard!

Boon 3: Death’s Clutches. You can use Soul Bind as a spell-like ability 1/day.

Hrm. Soul Bind is... A step up, I suppose, from Create Soul Gem. It’s basically Create Soul Gem, except the gemstone is permanent. That’s actually all there is to it; they even have the same range as one another.

Along with the same complication that results from the spell itself requiring a gemstone focus to bind the soul, but spell-like abilities typically ignore focus requirements. Whatever solution you and your DM came up with for Create Soul Gem will have to work with Soul Bind as well. Whatever the case may be, though, this ability might end up giving you a nice pocket filled to the brim with soul gems to fuel your immortality.

———-

EXALTED

———-

Boon 1: Death’s Grace. Gain Ray of Enfeeblement 3/day, Death Knell 2/day, or Sands of Time 1/day.

I’ve talked about Ray of Enfeeblement and Death Knell before, so the quick versions are:

RoE: Good spell to fall back on. Negated by a save, but 3/day makes it better.

DK: Decent. Extremely narrow use, but very good at what it does. A mediocre choice, but powerful if you can actually get the killing blow with it.

So. That leaves us with Sands of Time, a spell with no saving throw that instantly ages someone one age category up without granting them the age bonuses that usually come with an age-up. That is, at the very least, a -1 to Str, Con, and Dex which... Is not spectacular, really. But say someone is already middle aged? That means Sands of Time takes them to old age, and suddenly that’s a -3 to each of their physical ability scores. If you manage to swat an old enemy with it? They become venerable, and suddenly they’re buckling under the weight of a -6 penalty to Str/Con/Dex that lasts for 10 minutes per level.

Now, granted, Sands of Time loses a lot of its potency if you’re up against people in their 20s... or 120s, as ridiculous as it is, because the longer-lived races live really long and their age categories advance at a glacial pace. Unless the DM puts you up against exclusively human foes, it can be difficult to figure out how badly your Sands of TIme will affect someone; you may just end up giving them a meaningless -1 penalty which will get you killed instantly because I just saw that Sands of Time is a touch spell. Oops.

At the very least, you can also dump it on an object to accelerate its decay, dealing 3d6+1/lvl damage to it. It also works on Constructs and Undead in this way, dealing a decent chunk of damage with no save allowed. But, again, it’s a touch spell, and Exalted are fragile casters. That’s a pretty big damper on its usefulness.

Boon 2: Hunger of the Styx. 3/day upon successfully striking an enemy with a melee weapon, you may force them to make a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + Cha mod) or be stunned for 1 round and staggered for 1d4+1 rounds. On a successful save, they are still staggered for 1 round. This is a mind-affecting effect.

Not entirely sure why the Exalted, the caster class, gets a melee ability. On the other hand, it’s a very handy Get Out Of Jail Free card, since it automatically staggers whoever it hits regardless of whether or not they make their save, preventing the attacked enemy from taking full-attack (or full retreat) actions. If they actually FAIL their save, the encounter is more or less decided right there. This ability is an amazing Save-or-Suck that’s unfortunately stapled onto--wait a second when did Clerics and Oracles get 3/4ths BAB?

Nevermind! This ability’s amazing!! Provided you somehow have enough accuracy to strike an important enemy’s full AC (unless you have some weird melee weapon that hits touch AC), something that gets less and less likely as enemy CR rises.

Boon 3: Grasp of the Styx. 1/day, you may cast Grasping Hand as a spell-like ability. This hand is made up of the bubbling, black water of the Styx. Any creature grappled by the hand must succeed on a Fortitude save (DC 17+Cha mod) or gain 1 negative level.

Couldn’t spring for Crushing Hand, eh Charon? I suppose the negative level makes it good enough, despite the unfortunately low save needed to negate it, and the fact that foes you’d actually want to grapple are likely immune to negative levels.

Then again, even if you get it as early as possible, it still has a +28 to grapple checks (+17 caster level, +10 Str modifier, +1 size modifier) that only rises as you level. Even without the negative level, being able to partially paralyze a single opponent from medium range (100ft + 10ft/lvl) for 1 round/level is amazing if they don’t have allies capable of breaking the spell. A tall order, to be certain, but grappling an enemy caster for even one round can make a fight much easier.

The biggest weakness of any grappler, though, is Freedom of Movement, which most classes get around level 10 (except Cleric, which gets it at level 7). Now, since it has somatic components it can’t be cast while grappled, but with a 10min/level duration, if an enemy with the spell in their repertoire knows you’re coming they’ll slap it on themselves the instant you breach their fortress. Even against enemies immune to being grappled, the spell still finds some use by interposing itself between you and a chosen enemy, granting you +4 AC versus more or less everything it tries. So I suppose, in that case, it’s never completely useless.

----------

SENTINEL

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Boon 1: Death’s Crusader. Gain Mount 3/day, Wartrain Mount 2/day, or Phantom Steed 1/day

Please direct your eyeballs and/or other visual sensory organs to Trelmarixian’s page, because every Horseman gives the same Sentinel spell-likes.

Boon 2: On A Pale Horse. As a swift action, you may call upon the phantasmal image of the Pale Horse of Death, which takes up a 10ft square adjacent to you. As a move action which requires concentration, you may direct the Pale Horse to move up to 120ft in any direction or path you desire. It is unaffected by difficult terrain and may move over surfaces that would otherwise not bear its weight (water, ice, snow, glass, etc). Any creature the Pale Horse passes through must make a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 hit dice + Cha mod) or be struck with a -6 penalty to Constitution, Strength, and Dexterity, as though they had been suddenly struck venerable. Creatures who normally gain power as they age, such as dragons, gain the penalties instead. A creature may only be affected by the Pale Horse’s power once per round, no matter how many times it passes through their space. This is an aging, curse effect. The Pale Horse vanishes at the end of the round

Lets get one very, very important detail out of the way, one I think has to be a misprint: There’s no limit to how often you can use this power, so long as you give up your swift and move actions to do it. Harsh for the martial Sentinel, not so much for the spell-slinging Souldrinker.

The fact that there’s no limit to the horses you can conjure means you can try, try again if your opponent saves against the first round. Though age penalties cannot take an ability score below 1, a -6 to all of their physical ability scores still means that, among other things: they do 3 less damage with their attacks and have a -3 penalty to all attack rolls, they have a -3 penalty to Fortitude and Reflex saves, they gain 3 less HP per hit dice, have 3 less AC. Plus, if any of their scores are brought down to 1, any amount of ability damage beyond that will likely kill them (or render them helpless, which is the same thing). 120ft of movement is a HUGE range, and provided all of your enemies are lined up in a nice little row for you, it means you can potentially hit up to 24 people with a single use of this power!

And by the by, the penalties are permanent until cured by magic.

The fact that it’s both a curse and an aging effect means that some enemies are immune to it, but the potential in the Pale Horse to instantly debuff a whole crowd of enemies at the same time outweighs that fact. And besides, you still have your standard action to take even after you send the steed into the fray!

Boon 3: Death’s Call. 1/day, you may cast Wail of the Banshee as a spell-like ability, except it lacks a sonic component. Creatures affected seem to crumble to dust.

With the snap of your fingers and a whisper into the air, you can will people around you to just die. Wail of the Banshee is a very, very powerful spell, capable of hitting a 40ft burst of people within close range (25ft + 5ft/lvl) and weaving its power between allies and people you want to spare, dealing a flat 10 damage per level to everyone affected. Because Death’s Call is not audible, it may look to all the world like a crowd opposing you simply crumbled to dust with nothing more than a glance. You don’t actually HAVE to perform any motions, but come on! Who wouldn’t gently sweep their hand over a group of hapless fools, each one your hand passes over turning to a burst of dust as their allies look on in horror?

Who wouldn’t want to be Thanos snapping his fingers and ending half an enemy’s group?

Of course, there is the small, annoying fact that it’s a 1/day ability completely negated by a successful Fortitude save (DC 19 + Cha mod). Unlike with Implosion, though, the damage is sent out all at once and is launched at a range. However, it’s also a death effect, meaning that most high-end enemies will be outright immune to it.

It’ll kill or severely injure everyone with them, though. Plus, there’s always the delightful thought of walking into a crowded street with this and clearing yourself a path through them. It’s what Charon would have wanted.

You can read more about him here.

[indieks]

Silent Treatment 🔇 Mark Tuan || Part.1

💭 Pairing : Mark Tuan x Reader

💭 Genre : Angst, Fluff, Supernatural-ish

💭 Word count : 11k.

💭 Synopsis : Ever since his accident, he has forbidden himself from speaking ever again, as his voice hasn’t been useful the time he had needed it the most. Until he meets you, the one and only girl that could possibly help him overcome his trauma, as you make his heart and mind want to speak up again. You, who can hear his deepest thoughts through your special ability, yet still doesn’t see him as a desperate mute, but a mysterious man worthy of your care.

💭 Notice : The sentences written in bold are Mark's thoughts, and when *written like this between stars*, it means the character can hear them.

    Part 01 🔇 Part 02 🔈 Part 03 �� Part 04 [END] 🔊

   💭 A/N : I’m back!!!! Finally, I’m writing for GOT7, I’m so happy! This time, it’s a short series (normally 3 parts) that came up into my mind a long time ago but without the knowledge of where to take it nor who to choose… Until I finally opened my eyes on my own bias that suited the story too damn well, and helped it growing on its own…

I just wanted to add that I would never pretend that I know about psychology and how to treat patients! Everything comes out of my pure imagination! And please, if you ever feel bad for any reason, reach out, you matter! ♥

Thanks for ever reading this! As usual, I hope you’ll like it, and any comments, good or bad, are welcomed! I love your feedback ♥

Disclaimer : For the first time in my life, I can proudly say that the GIF is mine!

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The young man was sitting lazily on the leather couch, his eyes deprived from any light or life, with his fingers gently scratching the damaged pieces of fabric that were soon going to fall to the ground.

"Hmmm I see..." the psychiatrist mumbled as he wrote down some key words on the blank sheet in front of him. "He still doesn't want to speak?"

"No, doctor. I've tried everything I could. When I'm forcing him a little or approach him too close, he pushes me away pretty brutally... I don't know what to do anymore."

"And what about his best friend, J... Jason? Jason is that it?"

The mute had been about to break his vow of never speaking ever again in order to correct that annoying error, but he bit his bottom lip right before doing so, only glancing at the doctor who gladly caught that small reaction.

"Jackson, and he's doing really fine! He keeps on telling him that he doesn't blame him... Why would he even–" his dad sighed. "They still are best friends, well, at least I hope so... They used to laugh all the time, the house was so lively whenever the whole group of friends came, but ever since Jackson got out of the hospital, each one of their visits has been them talking to a wall and leaving with an upset expression on their faces..."

"How long has it been since the accident? Two months right?" the doctor asked while swinging slowly in his black chair.

"Yes..." the father answered, his voice trembling and, anticipating the fall of heavy tears that had accumulated under his tired eyelids, he grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk in front of him. "Two months since my wife died... And two months since Mark hasn't said a word."

The eyes of the said Mark landed on his father's back, whose shoulders were so down that he could clearly see how heavy the weight he carried on them was, and his heart squeezed in his chest.

"Mark? Can you come forward for a second?" the psychiatrist and hypnotherapist, Dr. Woodam Hwang, called for him along with a motion of his fingers signaling him to sit on the empty chair across his father's.

Mark executed himself, all the while looking at the ground as he exhaled quietly, and he sat on the chair, spreading his legs nonchalantly. After the tatters of the couch, he started to play with the ones of his ripped pair of jeans, not showing a bit of interest in the man in a white blouse facing him. Everything coming from his demeanor and facial expressions could tell how annoyed he was to be here and to have those psychiatric sessions that were far from helpful, at least in his eyes. Two months and four different doctors without a concluding diagnostic had passed ; why his father still hadn't given up on him just like he himself had?

Like the previous times, the doctor would pretend he knows everything that was stepping on his mind as well as the reasons he was doing this to himself, but up till now, it only had been wrong assumptions.

Like the previous times, his father would believe in the doctor's words, as they sound pretty right when they're coming from a professional's mouth. And because he can't talk anymore, Mark won't be able to tell him how ridiculous the diagnosis was, nor to explain himself.

Like the previous times, the link between his father and him would only shatter even more, destroyed by Mark's silence and the scary names that were given to his "sickness", or "trauma" as they say.

Aphasia, check ; temporary disablement, nope ; post-traumatic syndrome, maybe… Four doctors, and none of them, after having gone around those popular medical possibilities, had saved a final solution to the main problem : Mark had made a choice. None of them, had found the key to unlock his blocking that made him aim to shut himself up, forever.

So, in the end, Mark was once again going to be everything the doctor would want him to be. Two had said it would stop "sooner or later", remaining the vaguer possible – probably to get his father's hopes up ; and the other two had somehow reached the truth, as they had concluded that no one can really do anything against the power of human's will – at least without using force.

But still, where all of them had went wrong anyway, was when they had prescribed him a psychiatric treatment in the end – to cash the check, right? Or was it really because of their duty to take care of their patients, even the lost causes like him?

And, like the previous times, this psychiatric treatment wouldn't work, because Mark wasn't sick ; he was doing this voluntarily and didn't want it to stop. And that, his father either refused to accept it, or wouldn't believe it.

"I'm not expecting you to talk when it's only our first session together, Mark. But I'm going to deliver you my first conclusion, and if you don't agree, or if there's anything you want to tell, write it down there."

Dr. Hwang slid a blank sheet of paper along with a pencil in front of the empty-looking boy who nodded without great conviction. Mark felt the hopeful look of his father on him burn his cells, but he didn't mirror it as he laid back in his chair, waiting for the fantastic diagnostic this doctor would have reached. He quickly eyed the pin on the man's blouse and almost rolled his eyes at the sight of its lettering.

A hypnotherapist? Seriously dad?

"The shock must have affected you a lot, and I totally understand that. But what I'm fearing right now, is that it is transforming into a trauma that would block you for life..." the psychiatrist started, his eyes going back and forth between the two gloomy men on the other side of his desk. "Everybody knows that the loss of a mother is really hard for the child, whatever age he or she is, but even more when it has been as brutal as what you went through. In fact, the main problem is, that you were present when it happened."

Mark finally looked up to gaze at the serious doctor's face, who bent forward to lay his elbows on the desk, linking his fingers together as he was slowly reaching the heart of his analysis.

"And what I think is that... You feel guilty. For not having cried for help when you should have in your eyes, because you were the only one that was still conscious when the car crashed. I think, that you believe that you speaking is useless now, because your voice hasn't been of any help at that time. You believe that she died because of you, so overall, you feel guilty for having survived, and not her. Am I wrong?"

Shit, that bastard. He's… right?

Mark only shrugged before looking away from the doctor who smiled quickly, feeling proud to have seemingly pinpointed the problem.

"But what I believe, Mark, is that your mother surely wouldn't want you to inflict this to yourself."

He caught the angry stare of his client and it made him even prouder. He was getting closer.

"I believe you're too young to waste your life like this. Do you know that it is only normal that you didn't cry for help? You just had an accident, Mark. You were upside down when they found you that night ; you were hurt and shocked as well! Yes, people came late, but they still did, and it saved both your life and your best friend's! You shouldn't feel guilty for that, but lucky!"

Mark felt a sudden wave of rage running in his whole body. What did he even know? Was he there? He hadn't been that hurt, there was the proof : he only stayed three days at the hospital, while his best friend laid one month in a bed and his mother... His mother... 

"I know. I know you're deadly mad at me right now, and you have all the rights to be. I saw how you had been about to curse at me earlier when I misspelled Jackson's name, so I know you can talk. I know you can, but you won't. And my job consists in, helping you. So I'll try to help you as much as I can. I'll help you until I've found the thing inside of you that would make you want to talk again. You're a good person Mark, I can see that, as you take all the blame for yourself. But let me help you overcome this trauma, will you?"

I'm not sick. I'm not traumatized. Leave me alone, fuck.

Unexpectedly, a quiet sob broke out, and when Mark turned his head to the left, he spotted his father hiding in his coat's sleeve, a hand up in the air to excuse himself, as he was crying. The only time Mark had seen his father cry, in his whole 21 years of existence, was no other than at his mother's funeral. Not at the hospital when the doctors had pronounced her dead, not on the first night they had spent home without her presence to lighten the mood, not at the church when they had celebrated her beautiful personality and heard touching speeches on how a good woman she was, no ; at the cemetery, when her coffin had sunk deeper and deeper into the ground. When he had finally realized that she was gone.

But there he was, the proud and strong man he had always been, crying in the doctor's cabinet because of him, again. Mark's own tears were about to come out, but he rolled his eyes in the back to prevent them to do so. Because of me. I'm the one who should've died.

"I think we should at least try, for you, but also for you and him" the doctor smiled. "You're 21, so I won't treat you like a child. I can't impose you to come. It's only up to you, Mark."

Mark hated this idea. He wanted to be left alone and live his own life as a mute ; hell, he was fine like that! He grabbed the pen in front of him and was about to write an immense "BULLSHIT!" that would have taken all the paper before crumpling it and throw the ball at the psychiatrist. Yet, as he caught his father looking at him expectantly, the tears now wiped away from his face but his eyes still shimmering with hope and something near a plead, Mark resigned himself and reluctantly wrote a small "ok.", and he heard the doctor sigh in contentment.

"Fine! I'll set you an appointment in two months. You can come, if you want to."

     *

 **

 *

Two years later

    He approached his face to the mirror, searching meticulously for any sign of tiredness that needed to disappear as soon as he'd went out the door, because he hadn't the right to be tired. His boss had been kind enough to accept him in spite of his disablement, so Mark felt like he had to do extremely well as a payback.

Suddenly, the bathroom's door creaked and Jackson pushed it open, the morning's mist still readable in his squinted eyes, and after having blinked a few times to get accustomed to the light, he finally recognized his best friend that was looking back at him.

"Oh, hi Mark, woken up early" his raspy voice managed to be heard and Mark chuckled before reaching out his hand, waiting for their own greeting.

A few tricks of palms and fingers later, they both were now brushing their teeth with their eyes closed, undeniably wishing they could've stayed longer in their beds.

"Why do we have to wake up and go to work or classes, huh? I'm going to collapse sooner or later" Jackson whined with his toothbrush still in his mouth, but Mark kicked him in the arm before placing a finger on his frothy lips, signaling him into the glass to make less noise. "Ah right, the boys are sleeping, them, at least."

Mark had moved out of his house seven months ago, right after he had finished his cooking distance lessons and found his job as a kitchen clerk – if he wasn't dishwashing during the worst days – in a restaurant downtown. It was the perfect job where he didn't need to talk, as he was only executing orders without questioning. The perfect job that also fitted him and his lonely character, as he was most of the time left alone while preparing the steps of one meal or dressing up the plates. That, was the only thing he was thankful for Dr. Hwang, who had come up with a great plan B when he had dropped out of college – to his father's despair.

He was now living along with his six best friends in a huge colocation that was noisier, cheerier and livelier, yet more comfortable than with his own father. Some would say he was avoiding him like a coward as well as the tensed situation he had come to build between them ; still, his true friends right here had deeply understood when he had explained in their groupchat that he felt the need to leave, persuaded it was for the better.

He hadn't expected a positive response from each one of them when he had randomly offered to move in with him, as he still was thinking he was an ultimate burden for everyone he was close to, even more now that they had to speak through messages or properly learned – yet personalized – sign language. However, here they were altogether, and Mark could really tell the difference : he could finally breathe.

No more duty to go the appointments with Dr. Hwang every two months in order to please his dad ; no sensation of guilt every time he would catch him looking at pictures of his mother, still mourning two years after that ; no need to see him desperate as he was facing the non-evolution of his son's situation. He loved his father, deeply and truly, and that's why he felt even more satisfied that he had left, as he was sure it was taking a thousand of worries out of his mind.

Also, Mark had turned 23 years old, and his young adult's aim for independence had dragged him out of his house full of sorrow. His days were no longer guided by the routine of his distance learning for the cooking diploma – sending pictures of his creations and being with people only for the final exams had truly been better than dealing with his disablement at college –, nor by his fucking psychiatric sessions – seven months he hadn't gone to one, oups.

Now, he was a full-time worker, earning his own life, and living his youth the best he could with what he allowed himself to have. He mostly had a social life thanks to the random parties his roommates would throw from time to time at the apartment with their other friends, or the late-night snacks he shared with them before TV series, or the beer-and-chicken after dinner – if there even was a dinner ; sometimes the boys were too lazy or tired to cook.

Because aside from those six dorks, Mark hadn't made any acquaintances, not even at work where colleagues remained colleagues, as even if they were all really kind, the barrier of his silence and his secretive personality were making it difficult to get close to him. And unfortunately, his will to speak again was nowhere to be seen. 

Deep inside, Mark had been in perpetual suffering and blocking, his dark thoughts resurfacing more frequently than what he had expected, even if Jackson was doing more than well now, and his mom was surely resting in peace. Even if his friends were trying to reach out to him and make him talk sometimes, once he was drunk or when they had serious conversations about life, hoping their mate would break his walls and finally let go.

Mark hadn't put any efforts in his psychiatric sessions, and while Dr. Hwang clearly knew about that, he hadn't given up on him. Every two months since he had left his father's house, Mark had been receiving a small text reminding him there still was an appointment reserved for him – same time, same place – and that it would be the case until he clearly tells he doesn't want to come anymore.

Nevertheless, Mark had always left the psychiatrist on read. Not that he thought of returning anytime soon, no – maybe ? –, but because every time he had been about to turn it down once and for all, the face of his father had popped up in his mind, and he had been unable to do it. Guilt. Always that fucking guilt. His father, whom he lied to when he was telling him he had went, as the latter wasn't accompanying him anymore under the doctor's wish. For now, he had been lucky enough that Dr. Hwang hadn't said a word about it, but for how long… 

      Bzzt bzzt.

Is it this time of the month already?

Mark looked down on the sink where his smartphone was placed, and when the screen lit up, he indeed saw the text popping up and he swallowed a sigh. Maybe I should tell him I won't come anymore. Maybe it is time.

Jackson had looked down too from the corner of his eye, and if he had bit back his tongue for the past three sessions, this time he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Aren't you going to go?" he asked while combing his hair.

Mark looked surprised as he addressed him a curious gaze, his brows up on his forehead, so Jackson grabbed the opportunity to go on.

"I wasn't going to say anything but shit Mark, I know these appointments are doing you good bro!" he half-exclaimed half-whispered, and suddenly his friend's expression turned into a pissed one.

No they don't, Mark implicitly answered with a move of his head and index from the left to the right.

"Yes, they do."

Silence. Jackson sighed as he was searching for the right words to say now that he had opened his mouth.

"You know… Shit, I'm telling you I don't care." he muttered in a low voice at first, before looking straight into his best friend's eyes. "I heard you talk a few weeks ago, in your bedroom" he bluntly confessed as he crossed his arms on his toned chest.

    ***

  Indeed, one night, Mark hadn't been able to sleep. He had tossed and turned in his bed, sometimes looking at the ceiling of his empty bedroom, sometimes scrolling down his social media, sometimes putting his head under the pillow. Numerous thoughts had crossed his mind, out of nowhere, from his souvenirs with his mother, to some with his friends from back then, to the work he would have to do only in a few hours. And to add to his suffering, his throat had been terribly sore. It had burned and itched, and after some clearing of it, Mark had been surprised himself when his voice had come out.

Out of curiosity, with his heart pumping in his chest to the point it felt like it would tear his ribcage apart, Mark had dived under his sheets and, once he had been hidden like a child in his hut of blankets, he had dared to talk, after two years and a few months of locking up his own instrument, of sewing his lips, of punishing himself.

"A-A-Aaah. Aaaaah. Ah. Oh shit I can talk. Shit shit shit. That's weird. Fucking… weird. Enough now. Ouch, it hurts… Oh god it's… so weird. I should stop now… They're going to hear me. Why can't I stop? Stop it Tuan. Oh… fuck."

Putting a hand on his mouth, a heavy-breathing Mark had finally stopped ranting as soon as he had felt some kind of pleasure in talking again, because if he really did, he knew he wouldn't be able to stick to his vow anymore. So he had laid back on his pillow with his mouth still covered, his eyes wide open in shock and the tone of his voice piercing his eardrums. No need to say, that he never found sleep.

   *** 

    "What?" Mark's eyes told Jackson.

"Yes I did, and because I'm smart I let you live. I was fucking shocked too you know, I just woke up to go to the bathroom and when I heard your voice in the middle of the night, I got scared at first, thinking someone was there!"

Mark blinked a few seconds more, and for the first time in their friendship, he felt uneasy under Jackson's eyes that clearly were daring him to try and lie about it into his face.

"Look, even if I still think that's nonsense, I can continue to respect that you don't want to talk. It's been two years already but well, I can try to get that. But you have to understand that it's pretty frustrating to know you actually talk to yourself, when even with us you don't..."

The fake mute quickly grabbed his phone and started typing something hastily, too irritated to think of the hands' moves he had to do to depict what was on his mind.

"It was accidental, and it only happened once! I didn't talk to myself after that! And I won't!"

He showed the memo piece right under Jackson's eyes, which he instantly rolled before sighing loudly.

"Don't tell me it didn't feel great when you did! It's been two years, you can stop now! I'm doing fine, your mom's in peace, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"You know why" Mark simply wrote after having snatched the phone from his best friend's hands which had been up in the air from frustration.

"No I don't know anymore! Let's count down the reasons you shouldn't be that way : she was the one driving, you were shocked, pretty hurt too, nobody in this situation could have cried for help, we are alive, I can walk and dance, it was an accident…"

The skinny man's hand suddenly hit the glass and the noise resounded in all the room, making Jackson jump in surprise before he took a few steps forward to firmly grab Mark's shoulder. The latter didn't shove him away, as he was busy dealing with his heart that was vibrating along with his arms because of his clenched fists. He exhaled slowly so that he wouldn't smash the mirror into million broken pieces, just like he were.

"Mark. I'm sorry but you leave me no choice. I won't repeat it twice. It's either you go to this session and the ones that will follow and try a little bit harder to overcome whatever is blocking you, either I go myself and tell what I heard to the doctor. And I might tell the boys as well, and they won't leave you alone, especially Jinyoung and you know it, he's still actively searching for a way to make you talk after two years."

Mark straightened himself and he turned around to face Jackson who gulped in anticipation, because even if he was being straightforward right now, deep down he knew the risk he had taken by digging up the past to finally let it all out.

"You gotta be kidding me right now" Mark carefully wrote this time before showing up the screen, his eyes darkening with annoyance second by second as he watched Jackson's next moves.

How could his closest friend do this to him? He felt betrayed at the highest point, and the Chinese boy in front of him could read it in his turned off eyes that targeted him.

"No, I'm not. I want you to feel better. Don't tell me you're fine as it is, I'm done with this bullshit. Go. To. This. Session. Or I'm waking them up right now."

Mark didn't want to. He hated being treated as a mentally ill patient. He was fine. He had a job, he had true friends, and he had a nice flat, what else did he need? Yes, this memory still tortured him, but how talking again would do him any good? It wouldn't change what happened, would it?

However, now that he was facing this ultimatum that was more challenging than what he had expected, now that he could decipher on Jackson's traits how worried but determined he was, Mark's weaker side took the best of him and he was about to give in.

"C'mon. Grant me like, five sessions, where you actually make an effort. And if in the end I am wrong, I'll let you live as I always have" Jackson's raspy voice pierced through the thick silence that had settled for long seconds after his threat, and slowly, Mark nodded with his brows furrowing, showing his reluctance as he did. "Yes! You'll thank me later!"

And with that, Jackson left the bathroom in a dancing pace to go change, leaving a numb Mark that couldn't think about anything else but the session that was tomorrow. Not even about the fact that the clock had been ticking with all this mess going on, and that now he was almost late.

   *

**

*

  Grey. The sky was just grey. A light tint of grey with a glimpse of gold, the one that could hurt your pupils and burn your eyelids if you stared at it for too long. But still, it was a pretty grey. The sun's rays shined right above the accumulated clouds who luckily hadn't cried yet, making the overall light outside so bright, and leaving a calm veil over the town in the streets of which you were now walking with a smile on your lips.

The only thing you were hearing was the loud music in your earphones, its volume almost turned to its maximum, but you needed to make sure your eardrums were focusing on the singer's voice and that only. Not on the million concerned speeches of the people buzzing around you – like it had done lately, to the point it had given you headaches. Well, now that you were thinking of it, it had been a while since you hadn't heard a single unfamiliar voice infiltrating your head before those constant hummings, another one than your own that is.

Your godfather, who was a talented psychiatrist and hypnotherapist you were really close to, had told you that you were gifted once he had acknowledged that you weren't crazy. Because as crazy as it sounds, ever since you were little and without you being able to explain why, you could read minds. No, more specifically, you could hear the negative thoughts of people you came to know personally, without them wording it to you.

It seemingly depended on two things : either you had a sufficient bond with the person – a classmate you saw each day, a friend, a lover…–, either they had so many bad thoughts that you couldn't help but hear it. So sometimes, just talking to them or greeting them shortly once made their worries, their pain, their boredom, their anger flood through your ears.

At first, your parents hadn't believed you when you had told them you could "hear voices" while everybody in the class was quiet, and that it was disturbing you so much you couldn't concentrate on the lesson. You didn't have any idea of whose voices it was or what they were saying, as you were too young to master your power and focus on it yet. However, firstly when they had seen your grades dropping from your lack of understanding of the teaching ; and secondly when they had witnessed themselves your ability the day you had repeated word for word what they had thought deep down after you had complained another time, they finally had let go of their rational side in order to help out their daughter.

They did a great job at protecting you, not even talking about it to their closest friends, too scared that anyone could become a greedy enemy once they got to know that the supernatural did exist, or that, even while being of good faith, they would spread the news so that soon enough you would have been under the spotlight, exposed as an alien or whatever gifted child the medias would have labeled you, stealing your childhood and putting you at risk of scientific experiments.

But in the middle of all that implicit protection you hadn't seen, you yourself still had to deal with those non-stopping rantings into your head. And as a young and innocent child, you couldn’t know the harm it would do to you once you tried to help the others. You couldn't understand the concept of privacy, nor the one of family's secrets, nor the idea that you alone couldn't find a solution to everyone's problems.

Still, you tried to, with your school's friends and their own little concerns – not that being hungry and craving for something to eat was difficult to solve –, but when it had come to really mean yet childish comments about someone into their heads or more serious problems, you quickly had started to feel depressed to know of the dark side of this life and world, moreover because you couldn't do anything about it.

You still remembered that friend and classmate of yours back when you were in 3rd year of primary school, who had constantly been complaining to herself about how bad her arms hurt and how much she didn't like her father when he hit her and her mom and yelled at them ; and every time she had been watching other's loving dads at the school's gates, you had heard her envious comments. So one day, as you had finally seen him coming to pick her up, not a smile to curl his lips as you had approached him along with her who had been looking at the ground, you had blurted out :

"Why are you hurting Myeoli, mister? She's hurting, why?"

Your own father that had been standing next to him had suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you closer, apologizing on your behalf with his heart beating loud as he had quickly gotten a hold of what you had been insinuating. It had been innocent, a true and thoughtless question from a kid who couldn't quite understand what domestic violence was at that age, and while your friend had looked at you with surprise and fear pulling her traits, the scary man's face had decomposed itself for a second before it turned into something unreadable.

And unexpectedly, you had caught only one of his thoughts : "So you're talking about it to your friends, huh? Let's see if you would want to after we go home". Little did you know what it had meant back then ; but the next day, you had caught her covering some blue bruises while changing for the sports lesson, and overnight, she had started ignoring you and never talked to you again, because she would have been "beaten to death" if she did, as you heard.

And then, with the bond being broken, with her striking you out of her life, you had stopped hearing about her concerns, while the situation the little-you couldn't have saved anyway, never ceased. It was another aspect of your weird power, its capacity to turn off as unexpectedly as it had turned on with someone. It looked like you only had one shot to repair the person's situation, and with her, you had missed the target.

After that girl, you assumed the thing you had was a serious deal. After that, your parents took you to your dad's best friend who also was your godfather, a psychiatrist and hypnotherapist who then was eccentric enough to believe into psyche and any mystic thing that could explain your ability. After having listened to the whole story and without even using his hypno tricks, he confidently told you he would help you deal with it thanks to the bit he knew about it.

And he did. Thanks to him, you learned to focus on some voices only, but also to shut every one of them up whenever you didn't want to know. Because the more you grew up, the less you wanted to know. Indeed, when you finally understood the notion of intimacy, you felt awful for trespassing it even involuntarily, mostly because it was with your own friends. You felt as if you were a traitor only building unhealthy relationships where the person couldn't help but getting naked in front of you, and that even before she had legitimately granted you the right to see her wholly.

On top of that, hearing all the misery of the world pulled your own moral down, because the sensation of being powerless while facing the worst situations ate you. And even when you tried to help, it only resulted in you being hurt because you had given too much of yourself doing so, either as some people took advantage of your kindness, or as you got way too implicated.

However, at some point, you had had enough. Enough of being kind and understanding, enough of having headaches by trying hard to ignore the constant white noise in your ears, enough of dealing with people's shit and whines when you had your own to begin with. This angry state of mind along with the will to throw your Mother Teresa's costume out the door once and for all made it harder and challenging for your godfather's helping words to reach you. Still, he didn't give up and kept on telling you how and when you could use it in a way that would make you proud because, as he loved to remind you, you were gifted.

And in the end, you had been left with no choice but to grab his hand, and you learned to use it more than to duct it. You learned to feel things. To feel when your friends truly needed your help and support, so that you could permit yourself to open your ears and, instead of bluntly revealing what you knew, you threw clues at them that you were getting the problem and were here for them. 

To feel when you definitely had to shut the voices up, mostly when it came to acquaintances or the people you cherished so much that it killed you to violate their intimacy – you first had tried it on your godfather himself, successfully. And when you caught something bad but not on purpose, just because of your loss of focus, you learned not to feel guilty, nor to take it to heart or too seriously.

"We have over 60 000 thoughts going on our minds per day, Y/N. How can you believe each one of them is accurate, is full of sincerity, or is actually what's the person's thinking?" your godfather had said once, leaving you speechless, as always.

And when college time came along with the choice of your main course, you picked yours without hesitating, the one leading you to become like your role model : your godfather himself. You decided you'd help people every day but through your job – "without cheating" like he would say – as you had now developed some true psychologic and understanding skills without even using your power, and you liked it. No, you loved it, helping people, finding solutions, removing some burden off their shoulders and seeing their faces lit up.

So right now, your 23 year-old self was on its way to Dr. Hwang Woodam's cabinet with pressed strides, as it was the first session of many more he had proposed you to attend after classes, in order to build yourself a better idea of the job. Many sessions which would lead you, hopefully, to being a well-prepared and irreproachable psychiatrist at the end of your diploma.

         *  

**  

*

  The second you slid your headphones from your skull to your neck, murmurs joined the sounds of the busy town you were in and you frowned. It was really weird. How come you were hearing random voices now? Or had you met every single human being in this huge town? Impossible. You knew your power was constantly evolving, changing its characteristics whenever it wanted to, but what you couldn't stand was the fact that you felt like all your hard work to control it was in vain. You sure would share a word about it to your godfather at the end of the day.

You pushed his cabinet's door at 1:59pm precisely and, the second he saw you come in, a smile lit up his face.

"Y/N! My lovely niece, come here!" he called for you as you hurried yourself before him, and he held you in his arms. "We don't have the time to chat as the first client of this afternoon is already here, but let's have dinner together after that, okay?"

You nodded as you retreated, and you thanked him a thousand times when you saw he had prepared your own little desk next to his, with some files waiting for you to go through, an empty notebook with a beautiful cover, pencils in a little pot and a mug waiting to be filled with whatever would help you stay awake throughout the afternoon. 

You immediately started to read the first patient's folder, and its seriousness instantly plunged you into the intensity of the job. If sometimes you had thought you were having a hard life hearing negative thoughts all the time, you once again reminded yourself that if your godfather had been that helpful with you, it was because he too had a hard time dealing with this, yet he still did, without failing or complaining. It was so fascinating, but you could already guess how tiring it should be.

Because hypnotherapy had become a trend nowadays, some patients that came by merely had problems, or ones you didn't consider as really serious psychologically speaking, so you allowed yourself to stop taking notes of the sessions in order to read further the upcoming cases. And one particularly grabbed your attention, because of the number of missed rendezvous – already three? –, as well as the question marks next to a list of the patient's "potential syndromes" on the front cover.

You discretely put it in front of you and, after having tied your hair up in whatever hairdo that would keep them from your face, you started your lecture of the first page, slower than with the previous ones as your godfather's notes were really intriguing. First of all, the man – named Mark Yi En Tuan – was the same age as yours, so his case interested you even more : maybe you would be able to understand it a little bit better and suggest something this time…?

Wait a minute. Mark Tuan. You definitely knew this name. Where had you heard it? Where did it come from? You kept your right index on the name printed in bold characters before closing your eyes as you searched through your memory, and some bell finally rang into your messy head, making you gasp. You suddenly put both of your hands on your mouth to smother the exclamation of shock that had been about to follow. Mark Tuan, of course you knew him! He had been your crush a little more than 2 years ago at the university!

He was a guy with some crazily handsome features, and you had come to know, while digging facts about him back then, that he could spin swiftly in the air like a ninja and that he was able to speak English, Korean, Chinese and Japanese fluently, without languages studies being his major – what had been his major already...? You had never talked to him, only luckily sharing one English class with him during your 3rd year, where you had first spotted him and slowly went head over heels for his looks, his sexy English accent and his quiet aura that made him even more attractive somehow.

Simply looking at him from afar during a semester, too focused on your studies and your friends to even think of approaching a guy, you still had remarked when he had suddenly been absent from classes during the second part of school year, depriving you from your weekly daydream spent at eyeing him. And later, you had heard the boy had dropped out of college, for a reason you never got to know. Some of his friends were still attending the same university as yours this year, yet they had never shared a word about it to anyone. Not even Park Jinyoung who you knew quite well and talked a lot to, as you shared a few classes with him since he majored in contemporary literature.

Maybe the reason was lying right under your eyes? You were torn between contrary emotions, the embarrassment of being about to read something so personal about someone you "knew", the familiar sensation of guilt you were fighting every single day because of your power suddenly submerging you ; but at the same time, excitement and curiosity were bubbling in your stomach, preventing it from knotting harder and harder under your discomfort. Anyway though, you would eventually come to know about it if he ever passed the cabinet's door so…

… So you opened the file. And the more you were going down the lines, the darker his story was becoming and you felt as lost as your godfather – who was busy transcribing in his own notebook the last session at the moment. Your brows furrowed as you discovered the testimony of Mark's father, telling about an accident in which the wife and mother died. It had happened a little more than two years ago… Mark and his best friend called Jackson – oh my God Jackson Wang? The student council vice-president?! – had been coming back from a trip to China, their flight landing at 2 in the morning, and Mark's mom had been kind enough to come and pick them up before driving them home.

However, the boys soon fell asleep because of the travel, and the mother, from the lack of something to keep her awake, had found her eyelids closing for longer and longer as the miles went by, also tired from this round trip in the middle of the night. And unfortunately, her car had went out of the road, making tons of rolls down to the side to end upside down in the middle of nowhere, at night. Being the only one conscious, Mark had been too weak to come out of the car and crawl up to stop a driver for help. 

He had witnessed his mother's last breath, he had seen she was dying under his eyes, and he hadn't been able to do anything, neither his body nor his voice responding. And… What?! He felt guilty for that?

Your eyes almost popped out of their holes as you read, reread, and rereread those last words your godfather had underlined. Ever since, he had been refusing to speak because, according to the diagnosis, he considered that his voice hadn't been useful when he had needed it to be, so it was its punishment. Mark was punishing himself… for an accident.

Why hasn't he come to the last three sessions…?

You flipped the pages that always concluded the same thing : "No progress". It seemed like Mark was really out of reach, but it somehow made you eager to try yourself. You took it as your own personal challenge, and you couldn't wait to see if, today, you would be lucky enough to sit once again in the same room as him. Deep down too, you were eager to see his beautiful face again after all this time.

Your eyes started to look up at the door on your left every two seconds after you had finished, waiting impatiently for his frame to appear. And under the table, you kept your fingers crossed, wishing he wouldn't recognize you nor accept the proposition of you leaving that your godfather had made with every patient up till now.

    * 

**

*

You were lucky, because Mark did come. At 6:00pm, a really deep, low, and masculine voice resounded into your ears, even if you had successfully suppressed the ones of every single client you had met today.

*What am I doing here… Jackson I'm going to kill you. Why did I oblige? I shouldn't have. Shit.*

Jackson? Jackson… Oh my God! The best friend! It must be Mark!

You bit back a smile and a giggle of excitement as you needed to remain silent during the session going on, still you bounced a little on your chair as you put his file on the top of your pile once again. He had a really pleasant voice ; such a shame he was hiding it from everyone's ears, but it made you even gladder that you had caught at least a glimpse of it. Yet, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing in order to stop hearing him as you had promised yourself you wouldn't use your power if you were willing to be professional. However…

*Great, he's late now. I have the time to go, shouldn't I? It's even more embarrassing now that I skipped 3… Fuck my life.*

As you still could hear him, you realized he should be of the category of people that had so many bad thoughts that you couldn't help but hear them. It alarmed you about his true lack of well-being, because three years earlier, you had never heard his voice inside your head, not a single time. Well, now that you were thinking of it, it only made sense as he presently never let them out, so they surely kept buzzing again and again into his mind.

The patient before him left the room, and if your godfather had been about to sigh in defeat at the sight of his next appointment, when you lightly tapped his shoulder, it was as if you instantly shared your thrill with him before you even had announced the great news, as he felt some chills go down his arm under your touch.

"He's there" you smiled, and Woodam almost jumped out of his chair, his brows up on his wrinkling forehead as he smacked his hands together.

"You must be kidding me?!" he exclaimed a little bit louder than expected, and you eyed the door with concern, worried that it would make the angel-like boy fly away before you even got the chance to watch him land into the room.

"I can hear him. And he's pretty stressed out right now" you chuckled and in no time, your godfather was in front of the door frame, greeting that particular someone with a bright smile.

You stood up, drying your palms that had grown sweaty from anticipation on your thighs and, for the first time in your life, you suddenly stopped hearing Mark's ceaseless ranting voice, but not because you had chosen to ; because it got covered by the loud beatings of your excited heart that sped crazily its tempo the second he entered the room.

Handsome. He still was so handsome, as depressed as he was supposed to be, as affected as he should be, as fragile as he must be. Mark walked quietly in the room at a lazy pace, targeting the leather chair on which he naturally seated, not even greeting you with his eyes that were stuck to the ground – well, no sound had come out from your mouth anyway, as your crush for him was resurfacing and oppressing every single one of your muscles.

He was wearing a black trench coat which length almost reached his ankles, with a black turtleneck under it, and a navy blue pair of skinny jeans suiting his thin legs, ended by a pair of black sneakers that seemed huge on his feet. His deep brown and shiny hair wasn't styled in any way, parting naturally in two after he had combed it with his ringed fingers, and when he sighed discretely, your eyes went down on his face that had dug with time and probably depression, and you almost could decipher the small dots of a beard above his plump lips.

The question was : for how long had you been staring at him to be able to see even those small details?

Too long, obviously, and you realized it when you had to shake yourself out of your trance to notice that the boy was now looking at you with his brows furrowed, while your godfather was smiling at you awkwardly.

"He's okay with you staying, Y/N, you can sit now…?" Woodam tried and you jumped in surprise, looking at him with doe-like eyes before you executed yourself, your head becoming a hot-air balloon about to pop under the pressure and embarrassment.

Woodam has already asked the question? Why didn't I hear it? Y/N, focus!

Mark hadn't recognized you, and it was the only thought that came to soothe your internal lecture and make you dare to look at him once again. However, you hadn't expected for him to be staring at you in return, a curious light in his dark eyes that quickly avoided yours when it reached more than two seconds. He tilted his head to the side and you gulped, scared that he was about to change his mind, because it now looked like your face was familiar to him. Had he paid attention to you back then? Stop it Y/N, you're raving and giving yourself too much credit.

I've seen her before. Where? Where… Where?

Luckily for him, it wasn't a bad thought, so you didn't catch it. Unfortunately for you, though, but you probably would have succumbed to the shock. You needed to suit yourself back into your professional skin, not the one of a ridiculous and immature girl in front of an old crush she should have forgotten about by now. But why did it inch at every end of your tensed body to have him in the same room as you after all this time?

"Well, Mark, I'm really happy to see you today. I must confess that I thought I'd never see you again at this point, but looks like my persistence has won! Here" your godfather finally spoke up as he slid a pen and a few sheets of blank paper along with a book as a hard surface to easy the writing to his patient, who put them on his knees before actually starting to write something.

"Thanks for not telling my father."

You eyed Woodam who smiled warmly and nodded, his chin resting on his hands he had joined.

"I've told you since the beginning that I won't treat you like a child. The only adult I'm doing this to is my niece right here, she's still a baby sometimes even though you're the same age!" he chuckled and you frowned as you felt embarrassed that he was making fun of you before Mark.

This time, Mark clearly squinted his eyes while looking at you, and you read in his pupils that he was analyzing your face in order to picture it somewhere into his memory. Don't recognize me please, I'm a nobody, I swear…

Who the hell is she? *God why am I not good at remembering like Jinyoung or Jackson seriously!*

You gulped and your eyes grew big at the hearing of such a thought, indicating he was indeed investigating his memory because you were familiar. Mark knew your face, a face he was sure he had already commented himself about its prettiness, but why couldn't he bring his memories back together? Somewhere in the mist of his confusion and his deep thoughts, he could picture those two eyes that were looking back at him, still he didn't know which was the right landscape he should be drawing them in. Had it been at the uni? At one of his friends’ party? At a random café?

"And may I ask you why you decided to come back, out of a sudden?" the psychiatrist interrupted his torments and Mark finally stopped staring at you intensely, helping you breathe again as you had started to feel smaller and smaller under his gaze.

As far as you could remember, he already had seemed to be this kind of straightforward and nonchalant guy that was doing whatever he wanted to do and how he wanted to do, not slightly disturbed by the fact that he had been staring at you without blinking, contrary to normal people who wouldn't dare to do the same with strangers, unless they'd feel embarrassed, just as you had been earlier.

Mark drew a line under his first answer, concentrating to make it the straighter possible with his fingers displayed on the sheet to prevent it from moving, and you admired his taste for perfection. While his face was down, you permitted yourself to look him over one more time, changing your cosplay back for the young student with hearts in your eyes before the beautiful guy at school, but you couldn't care less. You loved being a teenager for the last semester you could allow yourself to, before you officially could become an active women, a psychiatrist with her own patients under responsibility and no time for those kind of daydreams anymore.

"Jackson blackmailed me this morning." Mark wrote honestly with a neat writing he showed your godfather, before drawing another line in anticipation for the next question.

You could see it wasn't their first session together, as they had their own codes for communicating, and as Mark was laid back really lazily in the chair that looked like his own.

"Oh he did? I guess you'll have to thank him for me! What was so challenging that you said yes? I'm sorry but I can't help being curious" Woodam pursued in a lighter tone, a smile never leaving his lips.

Mark hesitated an instant, his hair falling before his eyes that hadn't left the paper under them, and he sighed once again.

*He can be so intrusive sometimes…*

You caught that. You clenched your fists, your natural instinct of a niece feeling attacked by this poor remark about your godfather who was nothing but caring, not intrusive.

"He threatened me to tell something to the others at home" Mark showed, and your brows furrowed, wondering what kind of secret he was refusing to unveil fully.

"Oh a secret? A secret between best friends?" Woodam joked and Mark only shrugged, his facial expression telling him he could qualify it as whatever he'd like to. "Looks like it was kind of personal or embarrassing for you to take the deal" your godfather then concluded and you read quietly Mark's face, which changed into an annoyed frown.

    *

**

*

 The session begun with a few asks/replies that you took note of diligently, yet you quickly got disturbed by an intrusive voice murmuring in your head so many harsh things that became crucial, at least for you. It froze you into your seat, however you were burning with frustration. 

Indeed, while Woodam was busy trying to ask him some accurate questions, Mark was literally not putting any effort in the session, keeping every single bit of his true self deep inside, when he should be giving in return for things to progress. When he wrote yes, he meant no, and the reverse. At every assumption Woodam made, he shrugged it off while thinking how right it was and how bad that upset him ; at every proposition Woodam offered, he wrote he'd think about it when deep inside he was already convinced that he wouldn't even give it a try.

In your eyes, what Mark couldn't bear, was the fact that your godfather was seeing a little bit more through him at each session when he didn't want anyone to know, inducing him to close his ears and laugh it off every time Woodam would point out what he had been thinking deep inside. Meanwhile, his voice kept on flooding into your eardrums, filling them to the fullest, with his real pain, his suffering, his self-curses that should have pained you too ; but damn, their roleplay pissed you off so much you couldn't think straight or listen to your kind heart anymore.

Two years had passed since the accident and he still thought he could trick your godfather? Speaking of the latter, why hadn't he broken this dead-point situation already? What ridiculous duet were you witnessing right now? Why was Woodam being way too cautious around Mark when he obviously knew he was faking to be an honest and mysterious man on the outside, making them turning round and round endlessly? 

If you could understand the fact that Mark was "traumatized" and would naturally refuse the help from anyone, you couldn't stand him choosing to lie again and again instead of simply having the guts of telling he didn't want it and hated it. However, it went on, this laughable masquerade that did nothing but irritate you more and more as the two men seemed satisfied to be playing the hypocrites.

*What does she want, looking at me like that?*

"Can I ask a question?" you suddenly spoke up after having blocked a scoff, looking straight into Mark's pupils that eyed your figure, and the quick light of surprise that passed through them helped you gain confidence.

"Do you mind?" Woodam asked him without questioning your attempt, his trust in you limitless.

Mark shook his head from the left to the right and with that, you stood up from your seat, your legs surprisingly trembling but still guiding you to lean against the windows behind the desks. You felt thrilled at yourself for being that bold, however it was nothing compared to the flames of anger flaring your guts.

"Could you tell me, would your friends and family describe you as a good or a bad liar?" you asked precisely, on your way to a provocation that would hopefully earn at least a grunt from him.

*What the hell is this question?*

Woodam eyed you curiously, while Mark, the second he saw the proud smirk on your face, lost his composure he had worked on up till now so that people couldn't decipher when he was lying.

"Good liar, I guess, they used to call me poker face" he briefly wrote on his paper, his brows furrowing as he waited for your reply, and Woodam voiced the answer to you.

Weirdly though, Mark's heart started to beat a bit louder and his hands turned moist, as if you actually were putting some kind of pressure on him. He had tried his best not to pay attention to you during the whole session, or else his mind would've lost it from the countless "Who is she?" he would've asked himself. But right now, he wished he had accommodated himself to your presence a little bit more, as the more he was watching you, comfortably leaned back with your arms crossed and your chin up in defiance, the more he felt some powerful aura coming from you, with your eyes clearly lightened by something dangerously passionate, and giving him some chills he had failed to feel since quite a long time. You had such a presence even when your mouth was shut, and unexpectedly, his own turned dry as he started to anticipate what your point could be.

"Oh is it true? Because I wouldn't, truthfully. You're such a bad liar, Mr. Tuan, sorry if you're disappointed" you half joked, stepping to your chair to put both of your hands on its back. "I've met you only a few minutes ago, and I already can tell that you keep on lying. You know, we're only doing our job, and our job, is to help you. And from what I see, either you don't want to be helped at all, either you're scared of being helped. But let me tell you one thing : if you keep on saying the reverse of what's on your mind whenever you step in here, it's not necessary to come at all, we won't go anywhere. I can tell you're lying, Dr. Hwang can also tell you're lying, still you're thinking we're not aware of it? So what is it that you want from us? What's the purpose of all of this?"

Before you even knew it, words had flooded from your burning lips, the annoyance clear in your tone that you still kept as firm as possible so that he would get how serious you were about the issue. You couldn't help anyone who wasn't willing to get helped, that was a matter of fact, even if you hardly could admit it on a daily basis as you still were learning how to let go. But hearing too much of Mark Tuan for non-stopping 30 minutes and getting to know more than your godfather would ever reach even after two years because of his seemingly lack of guts to confront the boy, had made you greedy to be the one to wake him up.

Mark opened his mouth for a short time as if he had been about to protest but he quickly closed it, his lips forming a thin line, yet you caught the beginning of an eye-roll his pupils had been willing to do. Was he pissed at you right now? Was he offended? You'd be glad he could be if that ensured your words had an impact, yet, surprisingly, nothing came to your ears this time. Because, your raw ranting had somehow rang a bell inside of him and if, usually, he could quickly go over the truths Dr. Hwang pointed out about him, yours were resounding into his mind right now, making it turn blank.

However, the backfire of your boldness manifested itself quicker than what you would have thought, since now that the heavy words you had rummaged in your head had come out, the unexpected trance you had been in and that had given you the confidence to talk disappeared as soon as it had bloomed.

"E-Excuse me for a second" you suddenly said, and you rushed to the exit under two pair of eyes that watched you curiously.

Once you reached the empty waiting room, you collapsed on the first chair you saw before letting a long sigh escape your lips as you grasped your hair to get yourself straight. Mark's voice in your head became a distant humming, letting instantly place to a headache you hadn't really acknowledged as you had been too submerged by your frustration, but it was as if your thoughts were finally getting in order. What had you just said?! Mark wasn't the only one who would be lying in front of you later when you'll be seating right behind this desk, so why had you taken it to heart immediately?

"Y/N? What's wrong with you?" Woodam unexpectedly spoke up a few moments later, his tone calm. "Mark's gone now, you can come back."

You lifted your head up to see he was standing in the door frame, his eyes full of worry while yours became veiled by a deep red filter the second they landed on him.

"What's wrong is that I've heard every single thing inside his head, and that he just keeps on lying to you! And you? Why don't you say anything? You know he's lying but still you're not doing anything? I've been quite disgusted by your merry-go-round! If he doesn't want to be helped that badly, why waste your time, both of you? You know we can't do anything for someone that doesn't want to be helped at first!"

Y/N, BREATHE!

"Y/N, you know really well that a lot of patients express their disagreement to get helped because something's blocking them, right?" Woodam answered and some guilt dressed your pupils up, then when he suddenly smiled, you felt your tensed hands on your skull finally relax. "I'm not able to force him to open up to me, still I don't want to give up on him. It's our job Y/N, it's to still reach out to them whenever they need it, whatever time it takes, and even when they can't or won't express it. Mark came today, and even if it was because of Jackson, I had the feeling he was going to come back anyway."

A wave of self-deception crashed against your whole body as Woodam's wise words made you realize how wrong you had been to flare up in the first place. Whatever your reasons had been, as good as they had sounded, you needed to canalize your greed to be helpful that had made you implode like a bomb. 

What had disturbed you was one thing : Mark had chosen to stop talking, and he was choosing to lie. No blocking, no post-traumatic syndrome you could treat with the methods they taught you, simply a choice. What he was doing, only him could undo it just by the power of his own will. What could you do against it? Once again, you had felt so powerless, and you hated it ; surely that had been the reason why you got overwhelmed to begin with. You were 23, still you had acted like when you used to be so affected whenever you couldn't decipher a way to help someone as fast as you wished. Bravo.

"I'm going home, I want to reflect back on myself because right now, I'm doubting my capacity to do this job, at all. It seems like I can't be as patient and understanding as you" you mumbled, tears prickling at the corner of your eyelids, and without letting your godfather reassure you as he always did, you walked to the cabinet, grasped your things with a mechanical but strong hand and within a minute, you were outside the building.

    To be continued...

  A/N : I’m actively working on Part 2 right now, I hope you’ll like me to post it! Let me know? Thanks for ever reading my work, once again!

[professor-abeloved]

so i’ve had machk rose as an oc since 2009 and tbh im thankful for choices hss for giving me the avenue to develop his personality and backstory since it was hard for me to pin down HAHA

[backstory - or should i say, machkstory- and mc/aiden ship manifesto incoming]

(abuse and divorce ment ahead!)

in essence, machk’s a brat. he’s brat who makes silly puns, finger-guns, and generally just does whatever and tries to not to care too much because of his fear of commitment. “why commit to anything if you’re just going to get tired of it? why get youreself attached to someone if they’re just going to leave at the end?”

this mostly stems from the fact that he feels like his older sibling, hailey, abandoned him after the divorce was settled because ry*n s*mmers his dad took machk far away from his abusive mum. then they just kept changing locations, exacerbating machk’s notion that everything was temporary, until he landed One School that hailey (aka one of my OG hss mcs) helped build LMAO

but at this point their mother has died and hailey’s living with their boyfriend tony so it’s chill. ish. but not really because machk keeps running away whenever hailey tries to seek him out in school. idgaf what pb says, og mc is still in oliver m. berry high, fite me.

so machk’s there, trying to running away anytime he feels an Emotion, except he’s starting to feel a somethings for this lil ragtag squad. michael just gets him, emma and caleb invoke a protective feeling from him, and while he’s scared shitless of her, maria flores is someone to be admired.

and then there’s aiden. aiden who’s committed to both music and the band, who doesn’t back down even if ezra doesn’t agree with his ideals, even if he has to deal with privately tutoring a saxophonist who only knows three notes and careless whisper. 

but aiden doesn’t give up on him because this saxophonist can play by the ear and for all that he says that he doesnt care, he’s there when aiden needs him. the fact that machk’s got a cute smile has nothing to do with this at all, nope.

tbh seeing aiden be so committed would intrigue TF out of machk. like i said, he doesn’t see the point in being of committing yourself to anything/anyone because everything is temporary so why do it?

but then aiden just does it anyway. he does it and he just keeps moving forward despite the difficulties. in spite of himself, machk ends up being charmed and rooting for aiden 

and its machk’s faith in aiden that keeps aiden going.

it’s a sweet romance where both parties mutually inspire each other. one that sure takes its time because machk keeps denying his feelings to the point where myra and the rest of band play “I Won’t Say (I’m in Love)” whenever aiden and machk are within 5 feet of each other and machk just wants to disappear into a hole in the ground.

but as machk’s High School Story unfolds and he hangs more with the squad, it really helps with his trust issues. yes, machk can be selfish, immature and terrified of being let down, but deep down, he’s a caring kid that doesn’t want anyone feel the way he did.

eventually, the squad piece two-and-two together about machk’s sibling, and they offer a variety of solutions (ranging from talking to anyone of the OG hss squad to tell hailey to just leave him alone or something more... creative), machk realises that these people are willing to ride-or-die with him. he doesn’t quite believe it, but they’ve been through so much together that maybe it’s okay. maybe it’ll work out, but he’ll never know if he keeps running.

so he talks to hailey. they have a long, emotional chat about what happened and machk isn’t completely ready to accept them as an older sibling, and hailey isn’t ready to face their father, but they’re willing to try and at least be friends. they dance at homecoming and have a lot of fun, surprisingly. machk meets tony, who offers to take him out for ice cream, and instantly approves.

speaking of home-coming!! aiden confesses his feelings when he shows up at machk’s door. machk’s shookt because even if they’ve been doing ~romantic things~ together, they’ve never really put a label to it. aiden, however, reiterates that he doesn’t want to pressure machk and he’s chill as going as friends. all he wants is for machk to be comfortable and happy -- and at this point, machk just hugs him in the middle of his speech. he holds him tight because’s it’s aiden, wonderful, talented, sweet, awkward, dedicated aiden, and he’ll be damned if he lets him, if he lets this, go.

[jouissezduprintemps]

Something to Gain, Chapter Seven: Rasa’s Daughter

Rating: T Words: 3052 Fandom: Naruto Summary: Sequel to Something to Prove. Shikamaru and Temari navigate their relationship now that it’s in the public eye.

Something to Prove   First     Previous      Next

Kankuro stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked down the empty corridor, on his way to his brother’s office. Evening had fallen, and the building was mostly empty at this time of day. Gaara was always the first to arrive and the last to leave; Kankuro had come to remind him that he needed to eat and suggest that he join the rest of his family to do so. In the dimly-lit passage, he grew too comfortable in the relative silence. He was startled when a voice shouted, shaking through the building.

“Damn it, Joseki!” Tojuro shouted, slamming his hands down on his colleague’s desk. “We gave you your two days. Baki is the only council member who agrees with you. Rasa would never stand for this!”

“Rasa is dead.”

“And we have a demon ruling in his place! You think this is stability?!”

Kankuro hid himself inside one of the darkened alcoves that littered the hallway. Once displays for Suna’s treasures, they had long since been abandoned in favor of proper storage. At the moment, they were perfect to conceal himself from sight. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Tojuro was far too bold if he was voicing such opinions.

“Careful, Tojuro,” Joseki’s voice remained calm and even. “The wrong person might hear and accuse you of treason.”

“Right. Rasa’s daughter goes and makes herself a Konoha whore, but I’m the one committing treason,” Tojuro spat.

“Get out of my office.” The next word was a growl. “Now.”

Tojuro stormed through the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the wall. Kankuro remained concealed. A quick series of hand signs produced a clone, which he sent to follow the loud-mouthed councilman. He needed to report to Gaara, and quickly. If Tojuro was indeed their information leak, he was likely to slip up when his anger ran high. After a few seconds, when he could be sure that Joseki wouldn’t leave his office, Kankuro hurried down the hallway as quietly as possible.

“I don’t need to practice. I know what I’m going to say.” Temari ran a comb through her hair as she spoke. “Besides, none of it really matters. Once Gaara finds the leak, he’ll come forward with how all of this was planned. Those councilmen can shove their walking sticks back up their asses and get on with their lives.”

“See, when you say things like that, it makes me think you should give it another run-through.” Shikamaru’s eyes scanned the paper in his hand, moving over the outline that he, Temari, and Gaara had agreed upon.

“I’m just tired,” Temari explained as she turned the knob on the sink, letting cold water run through the pipes. “I’ve talked more to people in the last few days than I do in a year. That’s a lot for me.”

Shikamaru hummed his acknowledgement, listening as she splashed her face. After a moment, he looked up and admitted, “I’m worried that we don’t have any solid leads.”

“We’ll have Ino’s sensory skills in the council chamber with us. If anyone reacts, we’ll know. Kankuro will be watching the village from the aviary; Choji is going to patrol the kazekage building, where we’ll be. Baki is going to lead a training exercise for the guard as an excuse to keep watch over the gates. If they show themselves, they won’t have a chance. I imagine they’ll assume I can’t, or won’t, fight because they think I’m pregnant. Trust me, we have the upper hand.”

Well, at least she wasn’t worried about it. If only he could be so sure. “Lady Tsunade is going to have a field day with this when I file my report.”

“You’re helping preserve the alliance from outside forces. Yeah, it’s a little unorthodox, but Ino’s the one who needs to take the fall for that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Now, stop using all your energy thinking of contingencies. I need you sharp for tomorrow morning.” She took the paper from his hands and set it on her dresser, well out of his reach. “We’re too far gone to back out now.”

She might as well have been walking into her own trial. The judgmental glares of the councilmen tried to burrow into her skin as she approached the table, at which she boldly took her usual seat. Ino stood behind her chair to her right, severe and unyielding in her assumed position as bodyguard. The role came naturally to her, which was a blessing to the operation. To Ino’s left stood Shikamaru, who did his best not to look alert. The village knew him as the lackadaisical chunin exam proctor; to change his demeanor would be a complete giveaway.

Gaara glanced to his immediate left to look at his sister. To his right, Kankuro’s seat sat empty. It would be incredibly taboo to invite Shikamaru to take the seat, even if there was no real reason for him to stand. The gesture of allowing a Konoha nin to sit at the Suna council table would be too bold a move.

Temari’s eyes were cold as she stared down each of the councilmen in turn, daring them to make the first move. Her power play worked in her favor, and she decided to push it further. She shifted in her chair and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and weaving her fingers together. “I know I wasn’t called to the council to be gawked at. If you gentlemen have something to say, I suggest you do it.” Her challenge hung in the air, refusing to be ignored.

Shikamaru resisted the urge to wince at her brash tone. She clearly thought she’d already won, even though the battle hadn’t started. For now, all he could do was stand back.

Sajo, the narrow-eyed councilman on the other side of the table, was the first to speak. “Lady Temari, you must know that this council puts the good of the village above all else. Due to your…” he cleared his throat, “predicament, there are factors that need to be considered for the sake of Sunagakure.” He proceeded with caution, carefully choosing his words. “You are Rasa’s eldest, and, although the council selected Gaara as Kazekage, any child you bear will be from the main branch of the kage bloodline. Ordinarily, this would be natural, but the child in question isn’t entirely Suna.”

Picking up for his senior, Goza stroked his goatee as he spoke. “Even with the alliance in place, this council cannot accept a Konoha child as an heir to the kage bloodline, even as a firstborn. The conflict of interest is too great.”

“You talk as if my brothers will never have children of their own,” Temari countered.

“As that may be, there is no way to know that either Gaara or Kankuro will produce an heir of their own before tragedy strikes.” Goza’s words clearly referenced Gaara’s temporary death and Kankuro’s brush with Sasori’s poison. Both young men could easily be dead by now, and this served to emphasize his point.

Ebizo moved in his chair, surprising most of the council that he wasn’t asleep as they had assumed. The old man narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Shikamaru. He said nothing, and Joseki took his chance to speak.

“I suppose it would be best if we start at the most basic level,” Joseki spread his hands on the table. “You clearly intend to keep the child.  What does your…” he hesitated, trying to find the best word to describe Shikamaru in this situation, “lover plan to do?”

Speaking for him, Temari stated, “If you’re asking if he plans on remaining a part of our lives, the answer is yes.”

“The council cannot support a relationship such as this across village lines. Emotional ties are one thing; with a child in the mix, it could be a diplomatic nightmare if our villages go to war.”

“And would the council continue to disapprove if he were to relocate?” Temari asked, addressing the entire table.

There was some mixed murmuring before Tojuro voiced their answer. “Yes.” His decision fell heavy in the room. “He is born and raised Konoha. Relocation is no guarantee of allegiance.”

“Well?” Ebizo spoke, his voice strained and wavering with age.

“Honored Grandfather,” Temari began.

“No, Princess. I was talking to him.” He pointed a bony finger at Shikamaru. “I want to know what he thinks.”

Shikamaru wasn’t expecting to be addressed so openly. His mouth felt dry, but he pushed himself to speak. “Honored Grandfather, sir,” he used the same honorific he’d heard Temari employ, “I will do whatever it takes to remain with Temari and our child. I don’t know what this council will decide, but I would swear my allegiance to Suna tomorrow if it was required.”

The old man smiled a toothless grin, chuckling to himself. “Oh, Chiyo will haunt me for saying it, but I like him!” He looked over at Tojuro. “You don’t get to be my age without knowing what loyalty looks like. That boy would die for our princess, I guarantee it.”

“Honored Grandfather, that doesn’t have much to do with the problem at hand,” Tojuro did his best to maintain his respect and civility toward his elder. “Rasa would never stand for this, and neither should this council.”

“Rasa is dead,” Gaara rasped, adding his voice to the mix for the first time. “You’d do well to remember that I am not my father, Tojuro, and my Suna is not his.”

Tojuro’s hand balled into a fist underneath the table. “Yes, my lord.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Temari said coolly, “I came to this council meeting as a courtesy. I have already made up my mind. Whether the council approves or not, I know which move I’ll make.” She met Tojuro’s gaze. “You say my father wouldn’t stand for this. I’ll remind you that he was strictly utilitarian. Tell me, what solution would he choose?”

Tojuro clenched his jaw, angry that he didn’t have an answer. Fighting her insolence would only put him in a bad light, and so he remained silent. To his ire, Ebizo’s wheezing laugh sounded to his side.

“Very good, Princess. Very good.” Ebizo’s face wrinkled more dramatically than it already was. “I couldn’t say you’re wrong, either. Your father wouldn’t be pleased, but he would draw the same conclusion, I’m sure.”

“And what would that be?” Joseki asked.

“Our Lady Temari plans on relinquishing her bloodline claim and relocating herself.” Ebizo’s tone made it sound as obvious as telling someone the sky was blue.

The table went up in a roar as protests fought over one another, trying to be heard above the rest. Ebizo, Gaara, and Temari remained silent, and the glint in Temari’s eye betrayed her amusement at the result. Leave it to the Honorable Grandfather to land her shocking twist better than she ever could.

Shikamaru looked down at Temari with wide eyes. This wasn’t what they’d discussed, what they’d planned. Sure, it got a bigger reaction than they’d hoped for, but he didn’t know where she was going with this. She’d completely abandoned the strategy.

When the room quieted, Temari explained, “To the council, having Shikamaru relocate is a risk. My child having Konoha blood is a risk. You’d have me abandon both, I’m sure. But Suna has my brothers, two possible branches for the family. If the council wishes to follow the law of my father, it should see that my relocation will cause the largest net benefit to the largest group of people.”

Ikanago slammed his fist on the table. “Such an action would have you branded a rogue nin!”

“That decision is mine and mine alone to make, Ikanago.” Gaara didn’t try to veil his threat. “This council serves to advise, not rule. Remember that.”

Ikanago stood, his chair scraping along the sandstone floor. “I refuse to stand by while this council seals the fate of Suna. I will have no part in this.” His footsteps echoed throughout the room, and, by the time he reached the door, Tojuro and Ryusa followed his lead. When the door clicked shut, Gaara stood, placing both hands on the table.

“Dismissed.” In an instant, his sand enveloped him, and he was gone.

“Let’s go,” Temari looked up at her companions before standing. It was time to move. So as not to arouse suspicion, the trio walked out of the room with purpose. In a low tone, she whispered, “Ino, go back up Choji. Check the offices. We’ll head to the street and see if we can’t use ourselves as bait.”

Kankuro scanned the streets from his perch, hidden in one of the many open windows of the aviary. He’d come close to falling asleep when he saw three figures storm out of the building that was his mark. He narrowed his dark eyes against the sun, watching their movements. They stopped and seemed to exchange words before parting ways. One of them walked to the north, but the other two broke into a run at the west and south. Now, that was interesting. To his regret, none of them seemed to be headed his way.

He had a choice to make. He could only track one of them. Trusting his instinct, he set off after the westward-bound council member, running along the rooftops, just out of sight. He couldn’t be caught before he had proof that this man was a part of the information leak. For the moment, he had to lie low and keep his distance.

The council member – Ryusa, he could tell now that he was closer – took him in a massive loop back toward the administrative building, and Kankuro started to wonder if his presence had been detected. Ryusa slipped down an alley, turning left, then right, then left again. When he stopped, he stood in front of a back door, shrouded in shadow. Kankuro hid himself in wait, and it wasn’t long before Ryusa was joined by both Tojuro and Ikagago.

Ikanago knocked four times on the door with various pressures, and the door cracked open for him. He and the two others slipped inside, and the door was swiftly shut behind him. Kankuro had to move quickly if he was going to get backup for this one.

Ikanago put as much detail as he could into the scroll, trying not to leave out anything of importance. Tojuro was peering insufferably over his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to stab him in the thigh with his pen. If this plan was to continue unhindered, they needed to maintain some semblance of camaraderie.

Once finished, he rolled the scroll back up and made a series of hand signs, sealing it with a jutsu. To anyone else, it would look like a basic letter. There was nothing to make it official or any sign that it would be from someone of importance. The messenger was chosen for the same reason; a boy of sixteen, with nondescript features and an average build, stood across the room, waiting patiently for his assignment. They were paying him handsomely to deliver the message, and their partners were sure to do the same upon his arrival.

Ryusa stood opposite the boy, making sure he knew his responsibilities. “Now, tell me again.”

The boy bit back a groan. “I’m taking the message past the demon desert, to the boarder of the Rain. I’ll be met by a man in a black and red cloak with a mask over his face. I’m supposed to pass the scroll off to him and take the long way back, so I don’t look suspicious.” He frowned at his employer. “Can I have my money now?”

“Ingrate,” Ryusa growled as he handed him a bag of coins. “Ikanago!”

Ikanago tossed the scroll to the boy, who caught it and tucked it away in his pack, along with his payment.

“Now get going,” Tojuro commanded.

The boy disappeared up the flight of wooden stairs, headed for the back door. In a matter of seconds, there was a loud crash, a heavy thud, and the boy came tumbling back down into the cellar. The three councilmen jumped to the ready, kunai drawn.

Kankuro threw himself over the railing, diving at Tojuro. Their kunai clashed, and they broke apart, only to clash together again. Temari followed her brother, using her closed fan as a club to send Ryusa flying into the wall. Shikamaru engaged Ikanago while Ino bound the hands of the messenger boy, her knee planted firmly against his spine to keep him from moving.

The cramped quarters made fighting difficult. Kankuro and Shikamaru were used to mid-range tactics, but Temari was a long-distance fighter by nature. This almost proved fatal when Ryusa threw himself at her, lodging his kunai in her abdomen up to the hilt. Ino was quick to intervene, engaging him in hand-to-hand combat.

Temari stumbled, her hands clutching her side. She knew better than to remove the kunai. There was nothing more she could do. She barely registered that Kankuro had trapped Tojuro inside Black Ant before he was at her side.

“Tema! Aw, shit. Tema, you’re gonna be ok. C’mon, sis, stay with me.” He gave her a small shake as her head fell onto his shoulder. “Fuck! Hurry it up!” he shouted at his comrades.

“Ino!” Shikamaru shouted, holding on to Ikanago with his shadow possession. His teammate struck her opponent in the head hard enough to concuss him before hurrying to his aid. She wasted no time in binding him. As soon as she was done, she was at Temari’s side. She took her from her brother and lay her gently on the floor.

“Shit. She’s losing a lot of blood. I’m going to have to do some patchwork before we can get her to the hospital.” Ino looked at Kankuro, who nodded. “Tema, this is gonna hurt, but you’ve got this, okay?”

“Just do it,” Temari hissed, clenching her jaw as Ino removed the knife. She was bleeding freely without the obstruction, and Ino worked quickly to close the wound enough that she wouldn’t lose anymore blood. The last thing she saw was Ino gesturing to Shikamaru and Kankuro to give her more room. Then, everything was black.

[fastxandxtardy]

OOC: It’s been a long long time

Hey everyone. I’m so sorry I have been gone so long. I only just now managed to watch the Flash finale too. Which, omfg, I think it was a good thing that I waited so long for watching it because it made me feel even more depressed

I can’t promise I’ll be here regularly again but I’ll definitely try.

Things aren’t going so well. The more I learned, the more I started to realize that I don’t have an identity. It’s hard to explain but it feels as if some parts of my development stopped during my early teenage years. As if I’m only now going through puberty. It’s also fucking frightening and sometimes it’s just way too much. I feel at war with myself almost constantly. I was always unsure about what I wanted in life but I didn’t think it was that deep. I always had to take into account what others wanted from me in order to not get punished or hated. And after I got out of that abusive situation, I focused everything on trying to get a college degree without even knowing if that is what I want. Now I still don’t know what I want or need. It’s all question marks. I’m even questioning my lack of interest for intercourse. Maybe that’s because of me not having fully matured yet? I don’t know. Even the decision to never have children of myself. Right now I still stand by that decision, but what if that mother instinct kicks in when I’ve fully matured? By then it could be too late. Those are things I’m wondering about.

I also get angry. That is the most frightening of all. I don’t know how to cope with that feeling. Sure in the past I could get annoyed, but it was never worse than that. Or it was sadness instead. But now I feel real anger and hate and idk. Maybe I foolishly thought I was just too nice a person to have that feeling. I don’t know what to do with myself when I feel that. I can’t yell or something like that. I hate yelling. I always cringe when someone raises their voice in an angry manner, even if it’s not directed at me. So I wouldn’t be able to do it myself. I can try to write things down but I don’t know if that really helps.

I also have a very strong feeling like I don’t belong on this world. Or at least, not in this society. Maybe it’s also still because I haven’t fully matured yet. But my thinking, my logic, it’s just so different from other people. And the way this world functions... it just doesn’t work for me. My group members have said that I’m refreshingly naive and even unworldly but that for my own sake, I need to broaden my world so that the naivety fades. But I don’t know if I want that very last straw of myself - that I can still hold onto - to fade away too. Then there’s also the pain and emptiness I feel because of the past. Some part of me was broken and it doesn’t feel like it can be fixed. Sometimes that makes me feel really desperate. Those times it feels like things will never get better and that pain, that sorrow will keep returning my entire life. It makes you feel completely hopeless. The last time I felt that low, two weeks ago, I looked up information about ways to commit suicide. It’s never gotten that far before.

Afterwards, I was shocked of course. And the following quote also helped me to realize that and come to my senses again. “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” That really struck me. But I can’t say it’s entirely out of my mind now. It never is these days. There’s always the thought ‘I wish it could all end.’ Every single morning I think ‘Here we go again.’ Because the pain never seems to end. And it’s stupid things that can trigger it. When I see parents with their children, or hear my group members talking about their children. It aches. Every time I look at myself or fail at something, I can hear my step mother in my head mocking me. I’ve come to realize that the way I look at myself is the way she looked at me. My thoughts have molten together with hers during those 6 years. That’s what I also mean by having no identity. I can’t see myself because I look at myself through her eyes. And I don’t fucking know how to use my own eyes. That’s so damn frustrating. I KNOW all these things and can’t do fuck all about it.

Because of all that the therapeutic team has decided to let me stay longer. Normally my end date was 22 September but they can see I need longer. I need to come to terms though with the fact that all my problems can’t possibly be fixed in that time period. I need to give myself time. Something I have difficulty to accept because I’ve already given it 8 years time! When will it ever be enough? I’m just so tired of it sometimes. It’s exhausting.

I do my best with the therapies and all but it’s all theory. Easier said than done. Getting it into practice is what I’m still failing at. My fears too. Goddamn spider phobia. I was supposed to go home today. I did go home, and luckily my roommate decided to walk with me to come check my place to make me feel safer. Big fucking spider in my room of course. All that theory about how to deal with fears helped nothing in the face of danger. All the exposure exercises I already did... It changed nothing. I started panicking, crying, hyperventilating and cowering beneath my bed sheets while my roommate dealt with it. And I came back with her. I couldn’t stay there. Even though she killed it, there was no way I could have stayed there. I was soaking wet from the panic and looking red everywhere even an hour after. 

5 months and nothing changed. I don’t think it’s strange I’m losing hope here.

I’m not going to fully go into what I thought of the Flash finale. Other than a few highlights. Maybe I can go in more detail another day.

MY BARRY BETTER BE BACK BECAUSE DJFLSDJFDKSFJK > <  (I cried and sobbed and my roommate was shocked that a TV Show could have such an effect on me) and Savitar is a mean manipulative asshole! Goddamn it, I was totally buying him agreeing to getting help from team Flash. Barry and Iris were totally genuine about helping him! That was just so cruel! I was so so proud of Barry for taking the high road like that (inspired by Lenny omg!) I was like “Yes! That’s my baby!” and then that mean bastard! I sympathised with him! I was so ready to give him a second chance like Barry did because I BELIEVED him, and then he just went around and tried to kill everyone! (And screw him I was so digging the idea of Savitar wanting to change! If anyone ever wants to do something like that RP wise... hit me up ; ) or dark Savitar is fine too. I’m a sucker for Barry/Barry) And HR ;  ; like, I knew someone had to die but... fuck. That precious cinnamon roll. And just BARRY! I can’t even. He needs to come back okay. MY Barry. I’m now afraid that he’s going to be very different when he comes out of the Speedforce. I heard on YouTube that Grant said he’s going to be evolved or something. I really hope that doesn’t mean Barry won’t be Barry anymore. Barry is my baby. I love him being someone who tries to see the good in people. I love how he’s still trying to find out what kind of hero he wants to be and how far he’ll go when it comes to justice. That he’s willing to give even the villains second chances! Even if it doesn’t always turn out right... Like with this goddamn bastard Savitar! But it’s that same characteristic that made Barry able to see the good in Len too. And actually inspired Len to be a hero! It’s also that which made Eo somewhat conflicted when it comes to our Barry. He still very much hated the Flash, the one he knew in the future, but he obviously cared about Barry and realized he was different. Even going as far as to say the reason why he hated him didn’t matter anymore. (Yeah, I still miss S1 Eo. I’ll always keep missing him.) And to end the whole Barry thing, anyone can say whatever they want about Barry, but I will defend my baby until the end of times. He did not deserve that. This can NOT be his finish line. Stupid Speed Force.No one should have to be in there. You know what else is frustrating? I still had a lot of questions regarding Savitar. Guess I will never see those answered then.

I also watched Gotham and wow that... I mean, some things were so cliché, the whole virus thing. (although evil Lee was HOT - I mean whut > > ) it made my eyes roll. But then BRUCE nearly killing Alfred because of the conditioning that Shaman or whatever he was did to him. BARBARA finally getting roasted. Quite literally too. But holy shit, by Tabby! That was a shock. Where did that ship go so wrong? I never really warmed up to Babs... she was way too over the top for me and not in a good way like Jerome or the Riddler are. She had her great moments, but overal she was just annoying to me. And her acting like she was better than Tabitha? Uhm no. I actually liked their relationship before she got such a massive ego. And I didn’t particularly like Butch but the way she constantly bossed both of them around was really obnoxious. Batcat completely got killed too. (let’s hope it doesn’t last) And Nygmobblepot... like... I love Oswald. I adore him. God knows I shouldn’t. There’s just something about him that always makes me feel sorry for him and root for him. He’s always kind of been the underdog. But what he did now, when you think of it, is fucking creepy. Kinda disturbingly excitingly dark too, because of the whole extremely possessive aspect about it. The ‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’ thing and also ‘you’ll be mine one way or another’ vibe of it all. I don’t buy that he doesn’t have any feelings other than hatred for Ed anymore. Maybe not love right now, but definitely lust. I see that as more plausible a reason than “I want you around as a constant reminder to never make that mistake again.” for keeping him as a trophy. If he felt nothing for Ed at all anymore, he would have killed him and mounted his head on the wall or something. But no, he made the very conscious choice of leaving a way open to bring him back. Ed’s frozen with Fries’ formula, not dead, technically. Also Os’ “I’m fine for now.” indicates there is still a lot he plans on saying to him later. Once he feels that Ed has been punished sufficiently. And in a weird way they’ll be even then. Whether Ed will see it that way remains to be seen of course. But come on, Ed, you’ve both done horrible things! Either way I believe that Oswald never intends to keep him as a frozen centerpiece for his club forever. The acting was once more superb. Robin Lord Taylor always keeps amazing me.

Okay, by now I’ve been writing this post for several days already ^^' oops. While I didn’t like the horrible feeling the Flash finale gave me because of what they did to Barry, I am glad I watched it so that I could finally come on here again. I missed you guys <3 Things won’t go back to the way they were - yet - but I’ll try to visit occasionally. I hope you’re all doing fine!

[wanderbitesbybobbie]

An Open Letter to My Future Self

We will all reach that age when everything is just uncertain. I hope I reach the age of 50 (or beyond) and be able to read this with the hopes that things have changed for the better.

Dear Future Self,

You wrote this when you were a confused 28 year old adult. In a couple of weeks, you are not 28 anymore. I hope you are reading this while you are in a happy place, sipping on a glass of ice-cold Moscato by your balcony, or chilling with a bottle of beer by the beach. To be honest, I am so proud of you because at this age, you still have your goals intact and you are still pursuing it so keep it up! At the time you wrote this, you just got home from Sydney, and you realized that “home” will never ever be the same when you first left. Today is Valentine’s Day of 2018 and for the first time in so many years, you celebrated Valentine’s Day by yourself (with your dog Dewey). Despite that fact, you never felt so complete before. You were surrounded with your loving family and to you, nothing means more than that. In the past couple of months, you experienced so much in every aspect of your life. You had your ups and downs. But here you are, still standing and smashing it.

At the moment, you are thinking “where should I start?” It seems like your entire life is a total wreck right now, but you are still trying to put your sh*t together. Back in Sydney, you rented the best apartment in the middle of the city, and you had to let it go. There’s this point when you will doubt your choices in life, but in the end you still have to make those choices. There is NOTHING WRONG with FALLING APART. But there’s also this concept called STARTING OVER. In your 28 years of existence, you have learned that when life hits you, it hits you hard. It’s up to you how you will recover. “Adulting” is never easy. On normal instances, you have to finish school, work your ass off, pay your bills, balance your career and relationships, and try to build your social network all in one go. But you my dear, at 28… You have gone through so much in a span of 12 months.

  At 27, you decided to live abroad to pursue your passion in Patisserie, and that’s beyond brave. Living alone in a whole new environment with no one but yourself is a leap of faith. Looking back, everything was unfamiliar but you survived. You’ve experienced being a chef/kitchen-hand at a Lebanese Cafe. Do you remember the amount of pots and pans you had to clean while plating all those French Toasts and Burgers and Lebanese Sausages?  You also tried your luck in the cleaning business where you had to clean this entire warehouse of expensive cars at Villawood in a span of 4 hours. Don’t forget your experience in sales for Doctors Without Borders where you had to go door-to-door asking for a recurring donation for the organization. That was almost 100 doors in a day. Thank God it was winter. And of course, your favorite part was being a full-pledged Pastry Chef at an Italian Fine Dining at Rhodes. That was the hype of your career aside from The Royal Chimney which you built when you were younger. It was helluvah ride for you, and on top of that… let’s not forget you were also a FULL-TIME student aiming to ace your grades. You finished school (for the 3rd time) with passing grades. Hurrah! Your entire 2017 was a balancing act and you finished it as a Level 4 Certified Pastry Chef. Wow!

But of course, despite the blooming career, life will always throw something at you. There comes your marriage issue. For a lot of reasons, you thought you can put the relationship back together, but then you asked yourself and prayed… “Is it worth it?”, and God gave you your answers. He left, just like that. He did not have the confidence to say it straight to your face. It stings at first, just like a band-aid being pulled off from your wound. It will hurt, but when it’s over you will feel relieved. However, it will always leave a scar. You will be numb at some point, but when you see that scar, it will remind you of all the bitterness of how you tripped over.

Let me just say, it’s not a failed marriage on your part because you tried. It takes two hands to clap, so never regret that fact that you tried. You will heal and move on. In the right time, you might be able to meet the right person who will be ready to plan the future with you and actually fulfill it. You just have to learn how to love yourself first before you can love others.

The future might be overwhelming and terrifying. It’s OK to cry. Sometimes, your tears will give you a better view of what lies ahead. Allow yourself to take a clearer glance. You have your own future and everything lies in your own hands. Do not be afraid to fail because there is always time to stand again. If in your lifetime, you don’t meet “THE ONE”… That’s OK. There is absolutely nothing wrong with living alone. You just have to learn to be contented with the people you are with. They will come and go and that’s life, but the people who values you the most will always make an excuse to stay. Just live in the moment, no matter how painful or confusing. One day, you will be strong and happy and “right now” will only be just a memory.

Aiming high for your future is not a sin. There is nothing wrong with taking risks and going out of your comfort zone. Always remember, those that support you all throughout your journey are the people who truly cares so allow them to be there for you. Do not close your door to anyone who wants to know you at a closer distance.

At 28, you’ve had your fair share of hospital visits. I hope you are taking good care of your health now. Your GP in Sydney suspects Multiple Sclerosis because of your symptoms, and your physio therapist agrees with him. You’ve been patient with your nerve therapies for the past couple of months, and I’ve never seen you that persistent. You’ve been delaying your Neurologist check-up since December though and everyone is worried about you. I am glad you finally made that call and booked that appointment. Hon, I know you are scared. But the only solution to your sudden headaches and numbness is the advice you will get from your Neurologist. I hope you don’t miss your appointment. You’ve gone through life-threatening surgeries. This is nothing. Be brave.

Wherever you are right now, I hope you are doing OK, alive and kicking, and still slaying. Are you in Tasmania, managing an ice cream shop with your BFF? Are you in Greece? Living with your rescue dogs just along side the beach? Or are you traveling the world while remotely managing your E-Commerce shops? Did you live by your goal of being rich at 33? Hahaha. It may sound hilarious, but knowing you… You have the ability of making your dreams come true as long as you focus on it. Being called a “chef” was just your idea of adding some letters before your name (because you can’t be an Engr., or an Atty. or a Dr., or an Arch. because Maatthhhh), but to hell with it. You became a chef at 21 because you wanted it. Building a cafe was just your dream, and you did it at 24. You traveled the Philippines, explored Asia, and you actually wrote about your travels for a living at the age of 26. Living in Sydney was just your “future plans”, but you did it at 27. So your goal of making it big at 33… I believe in you. I just hope you don’t give up on whatever that motivates you.

“I believe in you 100%” someone so dear to you once told you that. It makes a big difference when others start believing in your abilities aside from yourself. Cherish those people. You will only meet them once.

In your lifetime, there will come a point when you will ask yourself… “Am I not a likeable person?”, “Will anybody be able to accept who I am as a person?”, “Am I not worth fighting for?”, “Am I not worth a try?”, “Am I not worth the risk?” My dear, YOU ARE WORTH EVERY DAMN FEELS. But only the right people will see that worth. You do not need validation from anyone. Just be yourself. Be whoever you want to be. Not everyone will have the same thinking as yours and not everyone will give the same effort as you give them. For that, you have to ask yourself again. Are they worth it?

But if in your lifetime you are able to find the people who will choose you over so many things that may be thrown at them, embrace these people. They are yours. You have the power to also choose them.

I hope by the time you are reading this in the future, you have learned your lessons. You are stronger and wiser. I know you won’t allow yourself to stumble on the same mistakes of the past. You are braver than you ever were. You know that heartaches are just temporary and you will heal eventually. Recovery is a tough process, and you have to go through it. Kinaya mo nga mag-isa sa Sydney eh. Kaya mo yan! 

Just continue traveling and moving forward. Just allow yourself to meet new people and be open for opportunities that might come your way. Allow them to take you to places, but never put yourself in a situation that will push you beyond your limits. You got this! You’ve come this far. Ngayon ka pa ba susuko kung kailan ang layo na ng narating mo? Push lang ng push! 

And as you always say when you were younger… GO WHERE YOUR DREAMS TAKE YOU. I hope you are still going to where you really want to be. Keep up the faith.

I love you always and 5-ever.

  BOBBIE (Your 28 Year Old Self)

  An Open Letter to My Future Self was originally published on WanderBitesByBobbie